The Slow Heal
by DarkVerity
Summary: During a stolen midnight stroll the summer after HPB, Harry stumbles upon a critically injured Draco Malfoy. When Draco finds himself stuck in Grimmauld Place and Hermione finds herself playing nurse, the claws will come out—along with…feelings?
1. Look what Harry dragged in

Disclaimer for whole story: Do not own.

On a cloudy, starless night in the middle of a particularly rainy August, a teenage boy with a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead sat staring out a grimy window at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. To any outsider, (though no outsider would have been able to see him) he looked much older than his seventeen years. His eyes were bloodshot from either crying or lack of sleep (possibly both) and his skin was a ghostly white save for the slight bags under his eyes which were very dark indeed. His black hair was unkempt, sticking up in odd places as though he'd never seen a comb in his life, nor a mirror. His form was thin and almost fragile looking as he sat hunched over in a stiff wooden chair.

But this boy was not frail, not by any measure. A quiet power flowed through his veins, a power that had driven him thus far in his life through countless tragedies and atrocities and kept him going still, during this particularly bleak and depressing period of his young life. He may have looked quite ghostly and lifeless, but by God…his eyes were alive. The power that flowed in his blood shot right to his pupils, where it ignited like two smoldering green flames. There was something about this boy, some quality, that suggested greatness. A strength of will, of character, of morals. You could see it just by looking at those eyes.

Though, of course, he was unaware of all this. Especially the part about his looks, as he really _hadn't_ seen a mirror in weeks. And if he looked older than seventeen, as we have already established, then he most certainly felt it. No boy could possibly shoulder so much pain, so much responsibility, and still have the strength to stand. No boy could shoulder such a burden, the burden he had carried since a year earlier when Professor Dumbledore revealed the prophecy to him, and still have the courage to get out of bed every morning.

But Harry Potter did have the strength to stand and he did get out of bed every morning. And then he trained. He spent nearly every waking moment thinking of the impending battle with Lord Voldemort. It was a very simple thought process that motivated him: _If I don't kill him, I'm going to die. He's powerful. I have to be more powerful than him in order to kill him. I have to work hard to become more powerful than him._ Therefore, he had to work hard in order to live.

However, survival was not his only motivator. Not by a long shot. Harry was also motivated by revenge, revenge for the lives of Lily and James Potter and Sirius and Dumbledore. It was like a cold weight in the back of his mind, ever present, ever pressing down. His parents. His godfather. His mentor. All of them slain by, or in the name of, Lord Voldemort.

Harry would kill Lord Voldemort and every single one of his Death Eaters or he would die trying.

This was his life. These thoughts were his mind. He had little else.

And so, it's not hard to imagine why Harry had been so restless as of late. He was confined to his house, this horrible, stuffy house, on orders from the Order of the Phoenix. He felt his whole life was leading up to one single moment with Voldemort, his whole being tingling on the brink of that one encounter, and he had to sit around waiting for it to come. It was unbearable. He was constantly running around the house, flipping through spell books, practicing hexes, looking for someone, anyone, to practice dueling with, ignoring Hermione's pleas for him to "Just calm down!" He couldn't. He couldn't eat, he could barely sleep, and yet, he had boundless energy that yearned to be let loose. But he couldn't leave the bloody house!

_This is exactly what Sirius felt like,_ he had thought several times over the past few weeks since leaving the Dursley's for the last time and coming to set up his residence at Grimmauld Place.

And so, with all this in mind, it was very strange to see Harry sitting quietly in a chair in a darkened room at nearly midnight, just staring blankly out the window. He had come to an impasse. He was weary, bone weary, exhausted from the sheer effort of not going outside. As he looked down at the dark stretch of sidewalk below the window, he wanted nothing more than to feel his feet on it. God, he would give almost _anything_ to feel the sensation of rubber shoe sole on concrete sidewalk. It had been so long. He just wanted to run, just run down the sidewalk with abandon and feel the midnight breeze ruffle his hair, smell the real air instead of the musty odor of Grimmauld Place.

Would it really be so horrible if he just stepped outside for a moment? It wasn't as if there were twenty Death Eaters waiting to jump out at him from the shadows. Grimmauld Place had been relocated to a secret location. And in fact, now that he really looked at the street, it seemed quite peaceful. Quite safe and secure, really. And the sidewalk. God, the sidewalk. It looked like heaven on earth.

He made up his mind. He would go. If anyone saw that he was missing and wanted to skin his hide when he got back, that was fine. But for now, he had a date with a glorious stretch of open sidewalk.

Standing up quietly from the chair, he took his wand from his pocket and muttered a charm to silence his footsteps. Then he walked to his closet, opened the doors silently and pulled his invisibility cloak from the top shelf. Wrapping it around his slight frame and checking to make sure he was completely covered, he made his way to the door and twisted the handle slowly, trying to be silent. He opened it a crack and stuck his head out, checking for any passersby. Seeing no one, he silently stepped into the hallway.

Then he made his way down the stairs, into the darkened, portrait-lined entrance hallway. Glancing left and right to make sure no one was watching, he walked quickly to the front door, savoring the idea that he would be breathing real air in just milliseconds.

He twisted the handle, opened the door just enough to squeeze through, and immediately had to fight the urge to drop to his knees and kiss the ground. Oh, sweet air. He had forgotten what it tasted like, what it smelled like. Or rather, what it _didn't_ smell like. The thought of ever going back inside Grimmauld Place was horrific.

Breathing deeply and walking slowly, he made his way down the sidewalk, his head tilted back to stare at the immensely beautiful, clouded darkness of the sky.

He walked and walked, all of the troubles slowly evaporating from his mind. This was the closest thing he had felt to contentment in a long time. Ever since Dumbledore died. Ever since he ended it with Ginny.

_Ginny_, he thought, sighing deeply. Merlin, how happy she had made him. How he missed her flaming hair and sparkling eyes and mischievous grin. What he wouldn't give to see her smiling in front of him right now.

_You can't see her smiling if she's dead_, he thought firmly. Harry had no doubt in his mind that Voldemort would go after Ginny if he knew they were together. This was another motivation for destroying Voldemort, being able to reunite with her. It didn't fill him with grim intensity like survival and revenge did, but spun a kind of soft longing in the pit of his stomach, potent in its own way.

He flashed back to that day beside the lake, when they had talked and kissed for hours and—

He was jolted from his reverie by a stifled scream that issued from an alleyway up ahead.

* * *

"What were you thinking, Draco?" spat Severus Snape as he pinned an unresponsive Draco Malfoy by the shoulders to the brick wall of a vacant alleyway. He brought his hand back and slapped Draco hard against the face. "You insulted the Dark Lord! _In front of the others!_ If I hadn't volunteered to punish you myself, they would have torn you limb from limb! And if the Dark Lord had heard you, you would not be alive!"

_What a blessing that would be, _thought Draco, staring defiantly into Snape's cold eyes.

Snape pulled back his hand and slapped Draco harder. "You're lucky _I _don't kill you!" he shouted. "Your life is _mine_, Draco. I saved it by killing Dumbledore for you. You are lucky _beyond comprehension_ that Voldemort didn't murder you for that immense failure!"

Draco's eyes blazed with fury. "Yes, well he murdered my mother and father instead, the fucking bastard," he said in a deadly quiet voice.

Snape curled his hand into a fist and slammed it into Draco's face, causing him to fall onto the filthy pavement. "Does your life mean nothing to you! Don't say such things!" raged Snape. "Would you prefer he had killed all three of you?"

Draco looked up at the greasy, hook-nosed wizard through streaming eyes and a bloody nose and said, "I don't imagine I'd care much, I'd be dead."

Snape's eyes went wide at the boy's insolence. He brought back his heeled foot and kicked it forcefully into Draco's side, audibly cracking several ribs. Draco fell on his side with a muffled scream.

"Do you see this mark?" said Snape, grasping Draco's wrist painfully in his hand and twisting it so Draco could see the Dark Mark. "Does this mean _nothing_ to you?"

Draco, though he could barely breathe, managed to twist his face into a look of disgust. "No, it means something," he wheezed, blood dripping from his mouth. "It means my parents are dead and I'm damned for the rest of my life because of a fucking worthless _Dark Lord _who was too much of a coward to try and kill Dumbledore on his own."

Snape's nostril's flared. He threw Draco's wrist down and kicked him again, harder, in the same spot, hearing the sickening crunch of bones and flesh.

"Wrong. It means you pledged your allegiance to the Dark Lord," said Snape.

He pulled a dagger from his robes, bent down and shoved it into Draco's side.

"And now you are going to die for betraying that allegiance." He pulled out the dagger forecfully, wiped the blood on Draco's robes, and stored it back in his own. Then he muttered an incantation and pointed his wand at Draco's wrist. Draco felt a searing pain. "You could have been great, Draco Malfoy. But you are not the man your father was. You are a disappointment. Your death will make very little difference to anyone."

With that, Snape raised his wand, turned on his heel, and Disapparated.

Draco let out an animal-like roar of pure rage and despair. Clutching his arms around his broken, painful, bleeding body, he let tears of frustration stream down his face. He had never felt this mentally anguished in his entire life, not even in the months before Dumbledore's death when his whole world had been filled with confusion and angst. In the end, he hadn't killed Dumbledore, and he was eternally grateful for that fact. If he had, it would have made Draco one of them, one of the scum-sucking Death Eaters. And even though he had the Dark Mark, he was not _really_ one of them, not in his mind. After his parents were murdered by Voldemort, he vowed to himself that he would _die_ before he became one of them.

And now here he was, crumpled on the ground in a dirty alleyway, quite sure that death would arrive soon.

"I will never be one of them… NEVER!" he roared, feeling the blinding pain of his injuries flare up with the sudden outburst. "I will…_never_…bow to the Dark Lord," he said with difficulty, gasping. "I hope he…rots."

He thought back to that night in the astronomy tower, to Dumbledore's offer. If only there had been more time. More time to think. He could have taken Dumbledore up on his offer. He could have saved himself and his parents. But now all was lost and all he had was pain and regret. And soon he would be dying. Soon—

A noise at the end of the alley. Draco's head shot up from the ground.

"Who's there?" he demanded, painfully wrenching his body into a sitting position against the brick wall.

Suddenly, Harry Potter appeared out of thin air right in front of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Harry had heard it all. Draco Malfoy renounced Lord Voldemort, defied Severus Snape. Malfoy's parents, like Harry's, had been killed by Voldemort. And now Draco was crumpled and bleeding against a brick wall in a filthy alleyway.

Harry may have hated Malfoy, but he wasn't about to let him die from wounds inflicted by Snape. He had just rebelled against the two men Harry hated most. That took courage. In the few moments before he revealed himself, Harry felt the slightest hint of something akin to respect for Malfoy, though he didn't immediately identify it as such. It was just a feeling that Malfoy deserved his help, or at least needed it badly enough for Harry to offer it.

And so he dropped his cloak and revealed himself to Malfoy, whose bloodshot eyes popped wide with surprise. He tried to stand, but only managed to shift slightly on the ground and as he let out a painful grunt. He patted his right pant leg with a weak hand and, finding nothing, searched the ground with his eyes, realizing that his wand lay on the ground several feet out of reach.

He looked up at Harry with hateful eyes and spat painfully, "Come to…finish me off…Potter? Now's the time to do it. I have…no wand. I'm broken down. Do what you've…wanted to do since—"

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry. "I'm going to help you."

Malfoy was silent for a moment, his face registering surprise. Then his features twisted into a sneer. "Being…noble as always…Potter? I don't want your…fucking help."

Harry regarded him silently for a second. "I heard the conversation, Malfoy. I heard you renounce Voldemort."

Malfoy winced at the sound of the name. "It doesn't mean I've…turned good…idiot. Now…leave me." He closed his eyes and slumped against the wall, becoming weaker by the second.

"No, Malfoy. You're coming with me," he said, starting forward.

"Like…hell…" said Malfoy with difficulty, trying hard to keep his eyes open.

As Harry knelt down beside him, Malfoy's eyes fluttered closed and he slumped onto his side. Harry put a levitation charm on Malfoy and, covering them both with the invisibility cloak, started quickly down the sidewalk to Grimmauld Place.

He barely remembered the trip back, so blurred were his thoughts. He had mixed emotions about saving Malfoy. He flashed back to all the terrible things Malfoy had done over the years, all the pain he had inflicted on Harry and his friends.

But right now, this wasn't "Malfoy". This was a young man caught up in a bad situation, willing to die rather than give in to Voldemort. Willing to die for what he thought was right. How could Harry not understand that? How could he not pity Malfoy? Sure, he was an arrogant, nasty, son-of-a-bitch. But he wasn't an arrogant, nasty, _Death Eater_, son-of-a-bitch. And that made all the difference.

When Harry stepped through the front door, he saw Lupin and Tonks in the entrance hall deep in conversation. They both looked up. Harry dropped the invisibility cloak.

"Harry, where the hell did you go?" yelled Tonks, not immediately registering Malfoy's presence. Then her mouth dropped open.

Lupin rushed forward. "What is all this? What's going on, Harry?"

"I'll explain in a moment. I'm fine, but Malfoy needs help badly."

"Mal-Malfoy?" spat Tonks. "Help…Malfoy? Why!"

Harry simply brushed past her, levitating Malfoy up the stairs to an empty bedroom on the left. Lupin and Tonks followed him, standing in the doorway as Harry landed Malfoy on top of a bed. "Malfoy isn't with Voldemort anymore," he explained. "Snape left Malfoy to die for renouncing Voldemort and I found him. Now can someone please help!"

"What's going on?" asked a sleepy female voice from the hallway.

* * *

Hermione Granger was asleep in her bedroom at Grimmauld Place when she was awoken by footsteps and voices coming from downstairs.

_Is it morning already?_ she thought wearily, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

She looked out the window and saw darkness. Baffled, she got out of bed, put on a bathrobe, and poked her head into the hallway. She saw Tonks and Lupin standing in the doorway to one of the empty bedrooms and heard Harry speaking agitatedly.

_What's got him all riled up at this time of night?_ she thought. She was getting used to Harry's erratic behavior. It came, she knew, from him being cooped up in this house all the time. She felt sorry for him, sorry enough to stay here at Grimmauld Place with him so he wouldn't be so lonely. Ron was at the Burrow with his family. She missed him terribly, but in an increasingly sisterly way. She knew he felt the same. They had kissed once, a few days before they parted ways, but there was nothing there. After a long, awkward talk, they agreed to remain friends. She wasn't sure if things had gone back to normal yet, as she hadn't seen him since.

Hermione pushed these thoughts aside, stumbled sleepily down the hall, and asked, "What's going on?"

Lupin and Tonks turned around and Hermione saw that Harry was standing over a bloodied body on the bed. She gasped and her eyes popped open, the last traces of sleep vanishing from her mind.

"Hermione, you know some medicine, right?" asked Harry.

"Well…sure, some, but…who—" She stepped into the room and stopped cold in her tracks as she saw the unconscious boy lying on the bed.

Draco Malfoy.


	2. First Kiss: Sort of?

Draco Malfoy had died and gone to heaven. Or so he thought. His pain was gone and a beautiful angel hovered over him. A beautiful angel with pale, smooth skin, pink lips, and wild brown curls. If only he could see her eyes. He knew he would see eternity in them. But he couldn't focus. Everything was blurry. Why couldn't he see her eyes?

Wait—why was he in heaven? Didn't he, if anything, deserve to be in the fiery pits of hell, chumming it up with the devil over a bottle of fire whisky?

And why couldn't he move? His arms and legs felt like lead weights.

What was going on!

He didn't have much more time to ponder this, for he lost consciousness soon after.

* * *

"How is he?" asked Harry quietly, entering the room.

Hermione looked up at Harry. She had been sitting in this hard chair beside Malfoy's bed for nearly twelve hours, watching and waiting. He would either live or die, and she wasn't sure which it was going to be. His injuries had been terrible. A broken nose, a dagger wound to his torso that had bled profusely, and several cracked ribs which may or may not have punctured his vital organs. She had done all she knew how to do, and Lupin had helped, but now, with his injuries all mended up magically, it was just a waiting game. Even though the bones and the flesh were healed, there may have been more damage beneath the surface.

And he had lost so much blood. His robes and the bedsheets had been soaked with it, not to mention Hermione's pajamas and bathrobe, which she had changed out of after the initial healing process was over. That had been hours ago. Now she was just sitting here beside the bed of the boy who had called her a mudblood so many times, trying to make sure he wouldn't weaken and die in his sleep.

Why was she doing this again?

"You mean, how am _I_ Harry? Well, I'm quite tired, having been woken abruptly from my sleep _in the middle of the night._ And my eyes hurt from having been staring at this git for the past…how long has it been?"

Harry smiled tiredly. He walked over and patted Hermione on the back. "I know, Hermione. I'm sorry. But you've done a marvelous job. I mean…well, he's not twitching anymore, right?" he asked, glancing at Malfoy's still form.

"No, he stopped twitching a few hours ago. He opened his eyes for a little while and stirred around a bit…muttering something about angels or…something. I wasn't really listening."

They were quiet for a moment. "Is he going to make it, do you think?" asked Harry.

Hermione looked over at Malfoy. "If he doesn't, I'll be quite surprised. I've never known Malfoy to give up on anything. And, well…I find myself hoping he will live, actually."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Why's that?"

"Well…" she grinned wickedly, "it would be quite fun having Malfoy under my control. I mean, he wouldn't be able to move for days. And if he called me a…you know…I could just magic his mouth shut."

Harry snorted. "Well, then, I hope he lives too. For your amusement."

This was how she explained it to Harry, but there were other reasons. She felt responsible for Malfoy, having been the one to heal him. She had never put her medical skills to the test in a real situation before, having learned everything from books, so she was extremely nervous about having done something wrong. Malfoy was like a test. If he lived, she got an Outstanding. If he died, she got a big fat Troll, and blood on her hands for letting someone die.

And yet, she knew those weren't the only reasons. There was something fundamental, some subconscious reason for her wanting Malfoy to live. It was something along the lines of Malfoy being a constant in her life. He had always been there, bullying, sneering, and smirking. She had gotten used to this over the past six years, and though she hated him for it, it was a sort of pillar in her life. Malfoy's death would represent the fact that anything could change, anyone could die, and nothing could stay the same forever. And that frightened Hermione.

"Are you ready for me to take over?" asked Harry.

"Merlin, yes," said Hermione, standing and stretching. "I don't remember the last time I was this tired. Just please call me if he wakes up. Or dies. Whichever…"

Harry laughed and sat down in the wooden chair next to Malfoy's bed. "I will. Go get some sleep, you look horrible."

She smiled. "And you look like a million galleons," she said sarcastically.

She walked out of the bedroom, half walking, half stumbling with sleepiness to her own room. Without even taking off her shoes, she dropped into her bed and closed her eyes. She felt half-dead.

_This certainly is an odd situation,_ she thought. When she had initially glimpsed the beaten and bruised Malfoy, she assumed Harry had done the damage. But then he explained to her about Snape and Voldemort. It was a bit of a shock. _Malfoy left Voldemort, _she mused._ Never thought I'd see the day._

And who knew what else was to come on this strange day? What might happen when Malfoy woke up…

Hermione fell asleep to images of Malfoy trying to strangle her, and having to pull out her wand to curse him. Her dreams were very similar.

* * *

When Draco woke up the next time, he had no illusions about being dead. He felt very much alive and very much in pain. He could also see correctly. And what he saw made him very, very angry: Harry Potter, sitting in a chair beside the unfamiliar bed he was lying in. Draco tried to sit up, but found he did not have the strength to move.

"Potter," he said, finding his voice to be not much more than a whisper. "Where the fuck am I? What have you done to me?"

"I didn't do anything to you," said Potter in a patient tone that set Malfoy's blood aflame. "Except save your life, that is. From Snape. Do you remember?"

Malfoy was confused for a second. And then it all came back to him. He tried to pat his body with his hands, remembering the injuries Snape had inflicted. He was too weak though, too tired. He could barely lift his arms. He felt a dull ache all over his chest and torso.

"Hermione healed you," said Potter.

Draco's eyes went wide. _The mudblood,_ he thought.

"I didn't want to be fucking _healed_," he spat. "I wanted to die! Why did you bring me here!" he yelled, searching the old, ornately furnished room with his eyes. "Where the fuck am I?"

"You're in my house," said Potter.

"Why?" asked Malfoy. "What do you want, information on the Dark Lord? Too fucking bad, Scarhead. You should have just killed me!"

"How long has he been awake?" said a female voice from the doorway. Draco turned his head and saw Hermione Granger entering the room, her eyes still clouded with sleep, her hair disheveled.

"Just a minute or two," said Potter.

Draco felt very suddenly like a rat trapped in a cage. He was injured, barely able to move, stuck in this unfamiliar room with two people who, judging by their expressions, would very much like it if he just keeled over dead. He wanted out. He wanted unconsciousness or escape or _anything_ other than being here right now. He was trapped. Trapped in this room, and trapped in his body, which was almost completely unresponsive. He thrashed about wildly, knowing he looked like a madman, but not caring in the slightest, trying to shake some sense into his muscles.

_MOVE! _he shouted at himself inwardly.

"Calm down!" yelled Granger.

* * *

_He's a complete maniac,_ thought Hermione, watching him struggle around on the bed, obviously not getting anywhere. His face was bright red, his blond hair a wild mess. She knew he needed to calm down quickly, or his face might just explode. She grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him swiftly out the door, into the hallway.

"I need to get him to calm down," she said to Harry.

"I'll conk him over the head, will that work?" asked Harry with a tinge of anger to his voice, obviously not happy with Malfoy's actions.

"No, Harry, stop joking. I need you to leave the room for a while. He hates you more than anything, more than me even. He's threatened by you. I mean, how would you feel if you couldn't move and you didn't have a wand, and it was Malfoy standing over your bed?"

"Look, I don't care, Hermione. I'm not leaving you alone with him," he said.

"Harry, he's never going to calm down with you in the room," said Hermione.

"Oh, and I'm sure the sight of you is very soothing to his nerves. What if he tries to hurt you?" he said, jabbing his finger angrily towards the door.

"Harry. Please. He currently has the strength of a three-year-old girl. And you have his wand. There's really nothing he can do to me."

Harry yanked his hand through his hair, considering the situation. "Okay," he said. "I'll stay out here. But the second he starts acting up, even if he's just—"

"Harry, I can handle it! Now off with you!" she said, swatting at his arm. She opened the door and went back in the room, rolling her eyes as Harry tried to get a glimpse of Malfoy before she shut the door.

* * *

Malfoy was currently halfway on and halfway off the bed, breathing very hard, apparently attempting a grand escape. He looked up at Granger with a furious expression.

"Get out," he said. "Leave me the fuck alone."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You need my help, Malfoy. We both know it. So stop trying to fight me and shut your wretched mouth."

She walked over to him, pushed his legs back onto the bed, and pulled the blankets over his shivering body. There was little Malfoy could do in protest.

"Don't touch me, you filthy mud—"

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT, MALFOY," she shouted, pointing her wand very, very close to his chest.

"Mudblood," he spat, his gray eyes blazing. "Going to kill me now? Mudblood?"

She smiled, (SHE SMILED!) brought the wand up to his mouth, and muttered a charm. Draco felt his mouth close of its own accord. His lips sealed shut. He couldn't open his mouth. And more importantly, since his nose was completely blocked off from whatever charm Granger had used to mend it, he couldn't breath. At all. He had never felt this sensation before, of not being able to draw air into his lungs. It was, he knew immediately, the worst feeling in the entire world. He tried to flail his arms and legs, tried to scratch at his mouth, but the charm stayed in place and he couldn't breath. A very tiny portion of his brain thought, _this must be what it feels like to drown. _But the larger portion of his brain, the only one he could hear at the moment, was screaming, _BREATH!_

Then everything went black.

* * *

"What the…" said Hermione, realizing something was wrong. Why did Malfoy pass out?

"Oh!" she shrieked, realizing his nasal passages had been blocked by her mending charm. He was suffocating. She practically screamed the counter-charm and waited for Malfoy to start breathing again. He didn't.

"Oh no, oh no…" she said, thinking frantically of what she should do.

Her mind was blank. For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger did not know the answer. What charm do you bloody use to get someone to start breathing again?

Nothing came to mind. Well, nothing except every single other charm she knew, all of them completely useless in this situation. And then a brilliant flash of memory popped before her eyes. The CPR classes she had been forced to take as a child, before she became a witch.

She dropped her wand, tilted Malfoy's head back, (or rather, shoved Malfoy's head back) opened his mouth, bent her head down, covered his mouth with hers, and breathed air into his lungs. All she could think of while doing this was the dementor's kiss and how it must feel very similar to giving Draco Malfoy CPR.

_Gross, gross, gross, gross, gross,_ was the mantra in her head as she went about reviving him.

She pumped his chest with her hands, not caring how sore his newly healed ribs would be when he woke up. _If he woke up!_ She bent her mouth to his again and breathed into his lungs.

She pulled back and frantically searched his face with her eyes. "_Wake up, you stupid_—"

Malfoy started coughing. Hermione nearly collapsed with relief. She wanted to cry. That was one of the most frightening experiences of her life.

Then Malfoy turned on his side, still coughing and gasping, and saw Hermione kneeling next to the bed, staring at him, breathing as if she had just run a marathon.

"You…crazy…bitch!" he half-screamed, half-whispered, still trying to catch his breath through coughing. "You…fucking…tried…to…" then he collapsed onto his back, his whole body racked with coughing.

Hermione grabbed her wand and conjured up a goblet of water.

"You need water," she said to Malfoy, who was still coughing. She held the goblet up to his mouth. He jerked his head away violently. She persisted, tilting the goblet so that water spilled onto his tightly pursed lips. He coughed again and his mouth opened involuntarily, allowing the water to flow in.

He seemed to change his mind about the water immediately upon tasting it, and grabbed the goblet from Hermione's shaking hands with the only bit of strength he had in him. He drank deeply from it for a few very long moments, feeling as if the life was flowing back into him. Then he let the goblet drop from his grip, spilling the rest of its contents on the bed.

Then he turned his attention back to Hermione. With the water, his voice had returned and his anger had strengthened. "You tried to kill me!" he shouted at her. "And then you…you…kissed me! What the _fuck_—"

Hermione's jaw dropped. "I did not _kiss_ _you_, you slimy git! I was giving you CPR!"

He tried to sit up and back away from her, but managed very little movement altogether. "What the hell is that, some kind of disease!"

She almost laughed at his ignorance. He thought CPR was a disease. That would have been hilarious at another time. "Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation," she said in her best know-it-all voice. "I was saving your life. So you can thank me any time you want. But first, if you'll excuse me, I need to go disinfect my mouth."

With that, she stood up and left the room, slamming and locking the door behind her.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was in hell. He was hungry. He was thirsty. He had to use the little wizard's room. Most of his body was throbbing in pain. His throat was sore from coughing. He felt dirty. He didn't have his wand. And to top it all off, he could barely move his body.

Death seemed like a beautiful thing at the moment. He hoped he could piss off the mudblood enough for her to want to murder him. Then maybe she would. And he could die before having to ask her where the bathroom was, the most embarrassing, demeaning thing he could possibly think of at the moment. Yes. He wanted to die.

He had finally managed to hoist himself into a sitting position on the bed, with his back resting against the wall. It only took him about ten minutes of exhausting, concentrated effort. He had never been this weak in his entire life.

Now he was just waiting for Granger to come back, who had apparently gone to "disinfect her mouth." Draco only wished he could do the same. Waking up to the feeling of a mudblood's mouth on your own was possibly the worst feeling imaginable. Well, except for suffocation. That was awful. So, in a grand total of about five minutes, he had felt the two worst feelings in the world, one right after the other, both inflicted by the insufferable Hermione Granger.

_Merlin, strike me down_, he thought. _Put me out of my misery._

He was completely at Granger's mercy and he knew it. The thought was unbearable.

The door creaked open and Draco twisted his head to the side to see who it was. Granger. Of course.

* * *

Hermione stepped into the room, closed the door, and walked slowly over to the wooden chair, staring at Malfoy all the while. He was sitting up in bed, glaring at her.

"How do you feel?" she asked, her face looking as though the words had a bad taste to them.

He didn't answer her. He just glared at her.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me," she said after a while.

"Good," he said. "I'll keep my mouth shut and then maybe I'll die."

She stared at him curiously. "Why do you want to die so badly?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't try to have a conversation with me, mudblood. Leave me the fuck alone."

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" asked Hermione without thinking.

Malfoy's eyes went wide and his nostrils flared. Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth; she had forgotten his parents were killed by Voldemort.

"I didn't…I—" she stammered.

"You forgot that my mother was murdered, did you? Good. Forget it again and wipe that look of pity off your face," he said, jerking his head to the side to stare at the wall.

Hermione felt horrible. Sort of. She really hadn't meant it that way. She wasn't jeering at his loss. Not intentionally, anyway. She didn't know what to do. Did she owe him an apology? The thought was repulsive.

He turned his head back to look at her. "Stop staring at me, mudblood."

She narrowed her eyes at him. _No, I definitely do not owe him an apology,_ she thought.

"Stop calling me that," she ordered.

He smirked. "Mudblood," he said emphatically.

"What is wrong with you, Malfoy?" Hermione asked in disbelief. "You are lying in a bed, wandless, unable to move, in _Harry Potter's_ house and you're calling me a…a…"

"Mudblood?" he offered.

She raised her wand. "You really do want to die, don't you," she said.

"Yes," he said, very seriously, in a way that made a chill go up Hermione's spine.

_How could anyone want to die?_ thought Hermione. It was inconceivable to her. Could Malfoy's life really be so horrible, so bleak, that—

"I said stop with the pity, Granger," said Malfoy, noticing the change in her expression.

Hermione hardened her features again. She cleared her throat and stood. "Is there um…anything you need?" she asked, pushing his insults and rudeness to the back of her mind.

He raised his eyebrows. "Well…a wand would be nice. And freedom of movement. Could you get me some of that? And—"

"Stop it, Malfoy," she said. "I'm trying to be civil to you. Are you hungry, I meant. Are there any bodily functions you need to take care of?"

"I am not about to discuss my bodily functions with you, Granger," he said.

She sighed in exasperation. "I'm not trying to embarrass you, Malfoy. You're my patient."

"No, I'm your prisoner," he said angrily.

They stared at each other for a few seconds.

"Have you ever heard of a man named Tycho Brahe?" asked Hermione, breaking the silence.

"No," said Malfoy, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Oh, really?" she asked. "Well, it's a wonderful tale. His death, that is. You see, he was a famous astronomer attending a banquet one night in Prague—this was in the 1600's—and he had to suddenly…relieve himself. But it was considered rude in those days to leave the table in the middle of a meal. So he held it in. And do you know what happened, Malfoy?"

Malfoy was silent, staring at her furiously.

"His bladder burst. And it took him eleven slow, painful days to die from it. You don't want to add that to your list of injuries, do you?"

"You're a bitch, Granger," said Malfoy. His cheeks were a faint pink, not quite a blush, but enough to make Hermione grin.

"You can either let me help you to the bathroom," she said, "or you can let Harry help you to the bathroom. Your choice."

Malfoy's cheeks grew pinker. Hermione could tell this was absolutely killing him. But she knew he would never, ever ask her for help, or admit that he needed help, so she took the initiative and walked over to the bed.

"Let's go, Malfoy," she said, pulling back the covers.


	3. Half Nakie Drakie and Cursed Daggers

A/N: I am SO happy you guys like it! My heart is all aflutter from these reviews. Thank you, BonnieCharlie, BlackEyedBella, mchs-angel08, Mrs. Laurel Lupin, kckrystal, Chandellina, bizbeth, slytherindragon2145, pretty-in-pink898, i-LuV-cHaRmEd18, luna, SalemWitch, and lil-miz-greenday-911. (and anyone else who reviews after I post this.) Sadly, I start school tomorrow so this will probably be my last update for a while. But since you guys seem to like this story (which makes me so happy!) I'm going to spend all my free time (which may not be much) writing it. I worked really hard to get this chapter out before I have to start school so you guys could have it. (I was at this ALL DAY, literally.) Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: Oh, you know.

* * *

Draco Malfoy almost couldn't believe he was allowing himself to be helped by the mudblood know-it-all Hermione Granger. _Almost_. Because her arm gripped tightly around his waist was quite a huge reminder. They were halfway down the dark hallway outside the bedroom he had woken up in and Draco was having a hard time just moving his feet. He acknowledged to himself that there was no way he'd be moving at all if it weren't for Granger. Of course, he'd never admit that to her.

He was trying his hardest not to touch her at all, but found that to be quite an impossibility in this situation. So he gripped a hand tightly onto her upper arm, none too gently, trying to support as much of his own weight as possible by propping a hand against the wall as he walked. He just felt so weak.

"Malfoy," grunted Hermione. "Could you at least…try to help me out here?"

Draco's eyes flashed angrily. "I'm…not exactly fit for…_walking around!_"

Granger was quite small, he noticed. She was obviously having a difficult time.

_Not nearly as difficult as mine,_ thought Draco, trying desperately to ignore the pain that flashed all over his torso. His legs felt like they were on fire. Every step was painful. Suddenly, the spot where he'd been stabbed flared up in an intense burst of pain that knocked the air from his lungs. He gasped. His knees buckled. He slid down against the wall, dragging Granger down with him. She gasped too, but only out of surprise.

"Are you alright?" she asked, leaning in close to see his face, which was flushed and sweaty. His eyes were screwed tightly closed in pain. His breathing was shallow. "Malfoy, say something! Are you okay?" she asked with more urgency.

"You did a…really…fucked up job…on my injuries…" he said through gritted teeth. "Finally found something…you're not good at…" He would have smirked at her, but he really didn't think he had the energy for it. Plus he was pretty pissed off that she had healed him incorrectly. He wasn't in a smirking kind of mood.

"What?" she said indignantly. "I did everything right! It's not my fault if you don't…_heal well_…you weak, pure-blooded prat."

"Weak?" he said, his eyes popping open. "Weak! You try…getting stabbed…in the—"

"Okay, Malfoy, this conversation could take all day," she cut him off cruelly. "You're speaking rather slowly. Get up. Come on," she said, trying to urge his body off the ground.

He shot her daggers with his eyes, but tried to get up anyway. He really needed a bathroom, and fast. And he wanted this little excursion to end as soon as possible.

Granger pretty much yanked him off the ground by his arm, which did very little to help his current painful state.

"We're almost there," she said. "It's the next door."

They made their slow, painful way the few remaining feet and Hermione opened the door for him.

"Do you need me to help you?" she asked him, though she looked as though she hoped he wouldn't hear her.

He turned his face towards hers to give her his most withering glare. "Are you fucking kidding me, Granger?"

She sighed and stepped away from him. "Whatever," she murmured.

He went inside by himself, gripping the door frame for support. Then he turned to glare at her once more before grabbing the doorknob and slamming the door shut. With a great release of breath, he sank down with his back to the door, thinking this was the strangest, most horrible situation he could possibly be in.

* * *

_Why in Merlin's name did I offer to help him in the bathroom?_ thought Hermione out in the hallway. That was the most disgusting, embarrassing thing she could have possibly said. But it's not as if she _wanted_ to help him. God, no. She just thought he looked so weak.

She massaged the spot where Malfoy had been gripping her arm. She could have sworn he was actually _trying_ to hurt her. His hands obviously still had strength, that much was certain.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She was dead tired. She had only gotten a couple hours of sleep before Malfoy had woken up. Curse the stupid prat.

Why was she doing this to herself? What did she owe Malfoy?

_NOTHING,_ she thought bitterly. _Except maybe a slap in the face._

So why was she helping him? Concerning herself with his welfare? She thought this over for a while and came to the conclusion that she felt sorry for him. She knew he would hate that. He apparently couldn't stand to be pitied.

But she did pity him. All of his nastiness and personality flaws aside, he was just a boy trapped up in a horrible life. His parents were dead. He was shunned by the Death Eaters. (Or rather, he shunned the Death Eaters and had hell to pay for it.) His body was currently useless and extremely painful. He was trapped in the house of his arch rival with no way of defending himself.

Yes, Hermione felt sorry for him. That's why she was helping him. But he was still Draco Malfoy, nastiness and personality flaws _not_ aside, and that's why she would never be nice about helping him. She knew he didn't want her help anyway.

SO WHY WAS SHE HELPING HIM?

She sighed. This must be what it feels like when your child brings home a stray dog and you end up having to take care of it. Harry being the child and Malfoy being the stray dog.

_What was Harry thinking?_ thought Hermione. This whole situation was insane.

She could faintly hear Malfoy coughing in the bathroom. She leaned closer to the door. Yes, it sounded like he was coughing his lungs up.

"Are you okay?" she asked through the door.

She heard a sharp intake of breath. "Could you just…" he started coughing again, "leave me…the fuck alone…" coughing again, "for TWO SECONDS!"

She sighed and leaned against the wall again. She would have to have a look at his injuries again later. That should be a fun ordeal, getting him to take his clothes off. Maybe she could do it while he was sleeping.

"Ahem," said a voice from the end of the hallway. It was Harry. "Taking a break?" he asked, walking over to where Hermione stood.

She gestured towards the bathroom with her thumb. Harry stared at the bathroom door. Then his face broke into a grin.

"He's in there?" he asked, obviously on the verge of laughter.

"Yes, Harry, and you should be gone when he comes out," she said, crossing her arms over her stomach, trying not to grin.

"You actually got him in the bathroom?" he asked, this time his voice bubbling into laughter.

Hermione tried not to laugh, but couldn't restrain herself. "Yes, Harry, stop laughing. It wasn't easy."

But he didn't stop laughing. And neither did she. The full impact of how strange and bizarre this situation was hit them both at the same time. She heldher indexfingerup toher mouth as she continued laughing silently, trying to get Harry to stop. But she hadn't seen him laugh like this in such a long time. And to think, _this_ brought it on. Apparently he found it hilarious that Hermione had helped Malfoy get to the bathroom.

"Oh…I wish I could have seen it…" he said, roaring with laughter.

"Harry…" she said, trying to breath through her laughter, "stop!"

His eyes were tearing up. He tried to laugh silently, but he kept snorting.

"Harry," said Hermione, trying so hard to stop laughing. "Just go away. Please. Go laugh in another room."

He nodded, unable to speak, and walked, shoulders shaking with silent laughter, back down the hallway where he descended the stairs.

Hermione tried to compose herself. But the sight of Harry laughing like that warmed her heart. She just wanted to sit and laugh with him for a very long time. He had been so sullen since Dumbledore passed.

But she knew Malfoy could probably hear them laughing through the door and she didn't want to upset his already foul mood by making him think he was the butt of a joke. Which he was, really. She had to fight to keep the laughter from bubbling up again.

The door opened beside her. Malfoy stepped out and steadied himself against the doorframe. He looked much more normal to Hermione, his robes straightened and his hair slicked back from his face with water. He didn't look quite as pale as he had a few minutes ago.

"Something funny out here?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at Hermione.

_Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh, _she told herself inwardly.

"No, Malfoy, nothing you would find amusing," she said, _not laughing_. (Amazingly.)

They stared at each other for a few tense moments.

"Shall we?" asked Hermione grimly, holding out her arm.

* * *

"Back to my cell?" sneered Draco, taking her arm rather reluctantly as they started down the hallway again.

"We're trying to help you, Malfoy, we're not holding you captive," she said.

_Right_, he thought.

He kept sneering. "Oh, so you'd let me leave right now if I wanted to?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Granger sighed. "No, we wouldn't, because you're too weak and you'd be killed by Death Eaters the second you left the protection of this house."

"What protection?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, they obviously haven't detected you here yet, haven't you noticed? And they'll never be able to, even with that stupid Dark Mark of yours, because the enchantments on this house were designed by Dumbledore himself."

Draco was silent for a second and then he brought up his wrist to look at it. "Bloody…" he started, but didn't finish. He stopped walking. The Dark Mark was almost completely faded. It was just an indistinct grayish splotch on his wrist.

"What?" asked Granger, trying to look at his wrist. She gasped. "Oh."

"Fucking Snape," spat Draco. "That's why he said that bloody spell. He took away my fucking Dark Mark, that's why I'm so weak. Fuck!"

"Why is that…I mean, why would you—"

Draco dropped his wrist and turned his attention to Granger. "Don't try to understand these things, mudblood," he said.

Her features screwed up in anger. "Stop calling me that! And why would Snape take away your Dark Mark?"

They had made it to the door. "I told you, don't try to understand these things," said Draco.

Granger opened the door and helped him into the room.

"Fine," she said, letting go of his waist rather suddenly so he tumbled onto the bed. "I'll get it out of you later. But onto other matters. Why were you coughing like that?"

He looked up at her angrily, trying to sit up. "How should I know?" he said. "You bloody healed me, you tell _me_ why I was coughing."

She sighed. "I'm going to have to look at your injuries again. Maybe something went wrong with one of the charms," she said.

Draco didn't move. _What does she want me to do, bloody take my clothes off?_ he thought, glaring up at her. He certainly wasn't going to make this any easier for her. In fact, he thought it would be quite amusing to hear goody-two-shoes Granger asking him to take off his robes.

"You're saying you could have screwed it up?" he asked.

Granger clenched her jaw for a second, obviously struggling with the admission that she may have done something wrong. "Well, I won't know until I see the wounds," she said through her teeth.

"Right," he said, not moving.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him pointedly. She cleared her throat.

"Malfoy," she said.

"Yes, Granger," he said.

She narrowed her eyes, realizing he was messing with her.

"Do it," she said.

"Do what?" he asked in a completely serious voice.

"TAKE OFF YOUR BLOODY CLOTHES!" she yelled. Her face turned three shades of red. Draco smirked, satisfied.

"Since you asked so nicely," he said.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was _infuriating_. Hermione could feel her cheeks on fire as she told him to take off his clothes. It wouldn't have been so embarrassing if he hadn't been waiting for her to say it. She knew he was probably cackling evilly inside his head, the bastard. His sense of cruelty obviously hadn't been weakened, though she saw his arms definitely were as he tried unbuttoning the front of his robes.

Wanting to get back at him, she said with a little tilt of her head, "Nothing I haven't seen before, of course."

His eyes narrowed and shot to hers. "I don't even want to know, Granger," he said with disgust in his voice.

"Good, because I really wouldn't like to talk about it. Now can you please unbutton faster, we haven't got all day," she said.

He glared at her as he unfastened the last three buttons. He wasn't wearing a shirt underneath, just the black pants he had been wearing when Harry brought him back. Malfoy seemed to look at the robes for the first time.

"Whose are these?" he asked, looking at the plain black robes. "And where's my shirt?"

"Your robes and shirt were soaked with blood," she said. "You lost quite a bit of it actually. Anyway, yours clothes need to be washed. As do mine, come to think of it. You got your precious _pure blood_ all over me. Now let me see your side."

Malfoy slid the robes off over his arms. Hermione gasped. The stab wound, which had just been an inch-long red mark after she healed it, was now black and surrounded by purplish bruising.

"Malfoy, what—" she didn't even know what to ask. She'd never seen anything like this.

She dropped to her knees beside the bed and reached her hand up to his side. She stopped before touching the wound. "Do you mind?" she asked, looking up at Malfoy.

"No, please, poke my painful wound," he said sarcastically. But she detected a hint of worry in his voice. How could he _not_ be worried with this…_thing_ on his side? She touched it tentatively with one finger. The muscles under his skin jumped at her touch.

"Does that hurt?" she asked.

"Not really," he said, though he was gritting his teeth.

She touched it again, applying a bit of pressure.

"Fuck!" he yelled, grabbing her wrist away. "Yes it _bloody_ hurts, stop poking it!"

He let her wrist go. She stood up, her brow furrowed. "I've never seen anything like this," she said, more to herself than him. "I need to go consult some textbooks."

* * *

_Granger and her bloody textbooks_, thought Draco. She had run off in a hurry, apparently to Potter's library. She must be having a field day. A fun new discovery to look up in one of her stupid books. Draco laid down on the bed, slapping a hand to his forehead. He couldn't deny to himself, he was a bit nervous about this injury. And he was especially nervous about Granger treating him. She obviously didn't know what the hell she was doing. For instance, YOU DON'T POKE PEOPLE'S STAB WOUNDS! If she had just healed him right the first time, he wouldn't be in this mess right now.

And _Snape_. The bastard. He had taken away Draco's Dark Mark to shame him and weaken him. What Granger didn't understand was how much pain goes into receiving a Dark Mark and how much pain it inflicts while you have it. It becomes _part of you_. And if some stupid fuck decides to take it away, it's like cutting off one of your arms or legs. That's why Draco was so weak. That's why his injuries weren't healing properly. He was missing part of himself. Sure, he would regain that part eventually. His body would regenerate the energy he had lost. But it would take a long bloody time.

About twenty minutes after she left, Granger burst back into the room with a flurry of textbooks and papers and bits of parchment. She walked directly to her bed in the corner, dropped everything on top, and plopped down next to the stack of medical literature. Without even sparing Draco a glance, she opened a rather large, tattered, brown book and began leafing through its pages feverishly.

"Calm down, Granger," said Malfoy. "This—" he pointed to the purplish bruise, "—uh, _thing_ isn't going anywhere."

"Shut it, Malfoy, I'm concentrating," she said snappishly. Then she glanced up at him. "And put the robes back on, you're going to catch a cold _on top of_ everything else I have to heal."

Draco looked down and realized he was indeed still half-naked. He quickly grabbed the black robes and put them back on, shooting Granger a glare that she didn't see, for she had an enormous book jammed halfway up her nose.

Draco had the sudden vision of Granger mating with a book and having lots of half-book, half-wizard babies. He snorted with laughter. She glanced up.

"What?" she asked, noting the amused expression on his face.

He snorted again, but tried to turn it into a cough. "Nothing," he said. "Just…a tickle in my throat. Get back to your book." He sniggered.

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment before lowering her head back down to read. After a few minutes, she sighed in frustration and slammed the book closed, grabbing a different one from the pile.

Draco closed his eyes and tried to block out the sounds of Granger flipping pages and sighing and generally being very noisy. He had very nearly fallen asleep, several minutes later, when she shrieked and jumped up from the bed, holding a large black book open in front of her face.

"This is it! I think I found it!" she said excitedly.

"Oh good, does it say I'm going to die?" asked Draco morbidly.

"No, I don't think you are," she said, still reading from the book as she stood in front of Draco's bed. The book was titled, "Weapons of the Dark Arts."

"Did you happen to get a look at the dagger Snape stabbed you with?" asked Granger.

"No…" said Draco. "Why?"

"Because I think it was this kind," she said, turning the book around so he could see. He saw a picture of a small, black-bladed dagger. "Does that look like the one he used?"

"How should I bloody know, I wasn't examining it! I was a bit distracted by the fact that it was _stuck into my side._"

"Right," she said distractedly, absorbing herself once again into the book. "You see, it inflicts a curse upon the flesh it stabs that actually _reverses_ the magical effects of any healing charms cast on the injury. That's…amazing. I've never heard of anything like it," she said in a captivated tone, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. She laughed dryly. "It's funny, the whole time I thought I was healing you but I was actually making it worse."

Draco's eyes blazed. "Yes, that's fucking hilarious, _how are you going to fix it!_" he yelled.

"Hmm…" she said, as if she hadn't even noticed his rude tone or sarcasm, running her finger down the page. "I'll need to make this potion. It doesn't look _too _difficult. Well…actually, it looks extremely difficult, but no matter!"

_She's actually excited about this_, thought Draco, perplexed. _She's like a little kid on Christmas morning. What the hell is wrong with her!_

"I'll get started on the potion, you stay here, and I'll be back to check on you in a little while," she said, practically skipping through the doorway.

He could only shake his head at the closed door. Hermione Granger was, without a doubt, the weirdest girl he knew. What kind of lunatic gets excited about brewing potions to heal disgusting, cursed stab-wounds?

* * *

Merlin, was Hermione excited. She had never concocted this type of potion before. After hours of slaving over a hot kettle, barely managing to scrounge up all the strange ingredients (thank goodness this house used to belong to dark wizards), she was finally on her way upstairs with the finished product which she had poured neatly into a silver goblet.

She was hoping beyond hope that she had done everything correctly. She had read the instructions about twenty times before she even began, and triple-checked every single step before carrying it out.

She went into the bedroom and found that Malfoy had fallen asleep. Aww, how peaceful he looked. She kicked him in the leg.

"Wake up, Malfoy!" she said loudly. "Potion time."

He looked up at her groggily. Then he recoiled, noticing the smell wafting down from the silver goblet as white fog drifted over it's sides and onto the bed.

"What the bloody hell is that…_stench_?" he said, pushing himself into a sitting position against the wall, his features twisted up in disgust.

"It's the potion, Malfoy, and I don't care how bad it smells, you're going to drink every last drop of it because I just spent the past _three hours—_"

"Okay! Alright," he said. "Calm down. Give it here."

She handed him the goblet and he lifted it to his lips, pausing to say, "I swear on my mother's grave, Granger, if this kills me, I am going to come back as a ghost and haunt you until your dying day."

"How sweet," she said. "Drink."

They shared one final glare before he threw back his head and downed the potion. He coughed and sputtered once it was all down, grabbing at his throat and gasping for air.

"THAT—BLOODY—BURNS!" he shouted.

Hermione didn't even react. She just watched him patiently, knowing from the text that this was the proper reaction. It was quite amusing, really. She had to try very hard not to smirk. When he had calmed down some, she asked, "Taste good?"

He glared at her with all the rage he had in his body. His face was as red as a tomato, his eyes no more than slits. Hermione pressed her lips together very firmly, trying not to smile.

"Well, try to get some rest, see you later," she said, dodging out the door before she burst into laughter.

* * *

A/N: Now, my loyal band of reviewers who I love so dearly, REVIEW! 


	4. The Difference Between Cats and Snakes

A/N: I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU. These reviews are so wonderful! Every time I read them, I end up squealing and grinning like an idiot. Trust me, my loyal band of reviewers, (which you are ALL welcome to join) I am going to try my darndest not to disappoint you with this story. Not only that, I'm going to try to knock your socks off. (don't know if I'll succeed, but I'll TRY!) Oh and I know I said I wouldn't be able to update for a while because of school, but I just couldn't keep my hands off this story. I can barely stop thinking about it! (Kind of obsessive on my part, but hey, it's definitely a good thing for those of you who want me to update!) I hope this one is as good as the other chapters! (but you better tell me if it's not)

Disclaimer: No, I don't own the Harry Potter extravaganza. Nor do I own Draco Malfoy or Tom Felton. Except in my dreams. (Very sexy dreams, might I add.)

Chapter 4: Chef Dobby and The Difference Between Cats and Snakes

* * *

Hermione was walking down the stairs, still laughing from the memory of Malfoy's furious expression, when Crookshanks ran up the stairs past her (without even meowing a hello!) and Tonks appeared below.

"Hermione," said Tonks. "I was just coming up to get you. We'd like to have a word with you. In the kitchen."

She spoke in a serious tone, something Hermione was unaccustomed to hearing from Tonks as of late. Ever since she and Lupin had gotten together, Tonks had been almost completely back to her old self. Given, she lacked the somewhat innocent quality she'd had before, what with Dumbledore's death and her newfound knowledge of how painful love can be. But she was still Tonks.

Confused by her tone, and wondering who exactly this "we" was, Hermione said, "Alright…" and followed Tonks through the hallway and down the flight of stairs leading to the basement kitchen. Lupin, Harry, and Arthur Weasley sat at the long wooden table, apparently waiting for the two of them to arrive.

"Mr. Weasley!" said Hermione, surprised and happy to see him there. "What are you doing here so soon?"

She hadn't seen Mr. Weasley since his visit the week before and hadn't expected him to return for at least another week. They got very few visitors here at Grimmauld Place, now that headquarters had been moved elsewhere. When anyone did come, the trip was made in complete and total secrecy, with a myriad of charms and enchantments performed to make sure no one could trace them to Harry's new location. Mr. Weasley visited about every two weeks to check up on their situation and fill them in on the latest news. Grimmauld Place had become somewhat of a safe house for Harry. He, of course, wanted to be at headquarters where all the action was, but the Order wouldn't allow it. In fact, Harry and Hermione didn't even know _where_ the new headquarters were. Everything was so secret, so confidential. Lupin and Tonks were here nearly all the time, under orders to guard Harry. It was as if he had become some fragile, precious jewel that had to be protected at all costs. Neither Harry nor Hermione saw the point in having both Lupin and Tonks here at the same time, _all the time_, when Harry was so well hidden and protected by the house's enchantments alone and the two aurors could be much more useful at headquarters. But orders were orders (though they weren't even sure who was actually _giving the orders_ these days) and they knew everything was being done in Harry's best interest.

Mr. Weasley smiled kindly at Hermione. "I'm here about all this…Draco Malfoy business," he said. "Have a seat. We'd like to talk with you and Harry."

Harry shrugged and gave Hermione a look that said, "Don't ask me," as she sat down next to him. She looked at Mr. Weasley expectantly.

"You see," he began, "the Order is very, er…nervous…about these new…developments. And, well, quite frankly, we think the boy is…a hazard, really…to Harry's safety. And your safety as well, Hermione, especially yours, since you've been the one, er…caring for him…" He trailed off.

"Right…" said Hermione, not really seeing the point. "And what kind of _hazard_ do you think he is to us?"

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "Well, obviously, there's the risk of him being found by…you-know-who…which would lead him right to Harry as well…"

"How would Voldemort find Malfoy in the first place?" asked Hermione.

"Well, his Dark Mark, of course," Mr. Weasley said, blinking as if it were obvious. "The enchantments on this house may not conceal it forever."

Hermione shook her head. "His Dark Mark is gone. Snape removed it."

Four sets of eyebrows went up around Hermione.

"Why didn't you tell us that?" asked Lupin.

"Well he only just noticed it a few hours ago," said Hermione defensively. "I would have told you eventually, I've just been quite busy trying to keep him from dying. And trying to keep myself from committing suicide, at that. He's not exactly a lamb to take care of. You should have seen the potion I had to brew to heal his dagger-wound. Snape used a cursed dagger that actually _reversed_ the effects of the healing charms we were using." She expected them to be awed.

Lupin sighed. "Again, Hermione, why didn't you tell us this? I could have identified a dagger wound like that in an instant."

"Well, you saw it when Harry first brought him in! Why didn't you identify it then?" she asked.

"You can't identify that kind of wound until _after_—oh, that's not the point. Arthur, please continue with what you were saying."

"Right. Well, Remus…is there any other way Draco could be detected here? Other than a Dark Mark?"

"Well…" said Lupin, thinking. "Not in any way that I know. But that doesn't mean it isn't possible."

"Why does it matter?" asked Harry, who had been watching this exchange in silence. "Snape thinks Malfoy is dead. Voldemort will think the same thing."

"It isn't that simple, Harry," said Lupin. "If Malfoy had really died, someone would have found his body. It would have been big news. I mean, this is the son of Lucius Malfoy we're talking about. When it's not on the front page of the Daily Prophet, Snape is going to get suspicious. And who knows? Maybe Snape or some other Death Eater went to collect Draco's body and found it to be missing. Anyway, the point is, we just don't know. It's too risky."

There was silence for a moment. Then Arthur cleared his throat again and said, "There's also the concern that, ah, Draco may be a hazard to the two of you in himself."

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.

"Well," said Arthur, "Harry has informed me that Draco is very weak right now. That he isn't a danger at all. But…well, we all know that's got to change eventually. And when it does…well…"

"We don't want him to be near either of you," finished Lupin.

"Okay, you want him out of here. So what are you suggesting?" asked Hermione. "That we just dump him out on the street? Do you even realize how seriously injured he is? How weak he is? We can't just—"

"Hermione, Hermione, please," said Lupin. "We're not suggesting that. We just…we're very uneasy having him here. He's a dark wizard. He's a Death Eater—"

"_Was_ a Death Eater," corrected Hermione.

"And how do you know he still isn't one?" asked Lupin. "How do you know this isn't all some clever ploy to get an inside source into Harry's midst?"

"It's not," said Harry. "I know it's not. I heard Malfoy talking to Snape. Hell, I heard Malfoy talking to _himself_. Voldemort _killed his parents_. You don't just forget about that sort of thing. You don't just go on working for the man who killed your mom and dad."

"Alright, Harry," said Arthur. "Say you're right. Say he's completely cut away from you-know-who. It doesn't automatically mean Malfoy himself wishes you no ill. It doesn't eradicate the danger."

"Well if Malfoy himself is the only thing you're worried about, then it's all for nothing, because he's pathetically weak right now," said Hermione.

"Here's a compromise," said Tonks, speaking for the first time. "Let Hermione heal Draco, and the second he regains enough strength to be a danger to Harry, kick him out on his arse."

Lupin looked from Tonks to Arthur and back again several times, thinking things through.

"Do you really want to continue healing him, Hermione?" asked Lupin.

Hermione let out a sigh. "It's not a matter of me _wanting_ to heal him. Of course I don't _want to_. He's horrible. But he's my responsibility now. So, yes, I'm going to continue."

"Alright," said Lupin. "But I want you to keep us informed. And Harry, I want you to stay away from him. I don't care how weak he is. I'm not going to have you putting yourself in danger. Also, keep all wands away from him. We don't want to take any chances."

Hermione and Harry nodded their consent.

"Arthur," said Lupin, standing up from the table. "I'd like to have a word with you in private."

"Right," said Arthur, following him.

"See you later," said Tonks to Harry and Hermione, following Arthur and Lupin as they ascended the stairs.

Harry and Hermione were silent for a moment. Then Harry said, "You realize we just kind of stood up for Malfoy."

Hermione looked at him gravely. "I know," she said.

"Why?" asked Harry.

"I'm not really sure," said Hermione. "I guess we both just kind of feel sorry for him."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. But you know if the situation was reversed and it was either of us needing Malfoy's help, he'd have left us to die."

Hermione nodded. "You're probably right. I guess that's just the difference between Gryffindors and Slytherins."

Harry smiled slightly. "Or maybe we're just nice people."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Naw."

Harry grinned. "Well, I'm off to eavesdrop on Lupin and Mr. Weasley. But tell me if you need any help dealing with Malfoy."

Hermione laughed as Harry pulled out his pair of extendable ears. "Alright. Good luck," she said.

As Harry walked up the stairs, Hermione let out a great sigh and laid her head down on the table. She was so tired. And hungry.

_Malfoy must be too_, she thought. She hadn't fed him anything so far. She wondered vaguely if the potion had taken effect yet. If so, the curse should be lifted and normal healing charms would begin to work again. She'd check later.

She raised her head from the table. "Dobby?" she called in a pleasant tone. Dobby had come to live with them here, partly to watch Kreacher (who stayed far away from all of them unless he was summoned), partly because he was so loyal to Harry and was therefore trustworthy, partly because the two wizards and two witches living in this house were hopeless when it came to cooking, and partly because Dobby wanted to so badly. Dobby did all the cooking, which he was rather good at and seemed to enjoy very much. Or perhaps it wasn't the cooking he enjoyed, but the chance to serve Harry Potter. Hermione made sure Dobby was paid his wages every week, sometimes adding a bonus that she hoped Dobby wouldn't notice, because if he did, he would return it with something like, "Serving Harry Potter and his friends is bonus enough for Dobby." She always treated Dobby as an equal, never as a servant, and insisted everyone else did the same.

With a loud _crack_, Dobby appeared, in all his tea-cozy glory, beside her. "How can Dobby be of service?"

Hermione always hated that. She didn't want him to feel that he was "in service." But it was the way of house elves. They _wanted_ to be "in service." All Hermione could really do was make sure Dobby got paid fairly and treated equally.

"Hello, Dobby, how are you?" she asked him kindly.

"Dobby is very well, Hermione, Dobby is excited to serve!" Indeed, his orb-like eyes shone with anticipation. Hermione was inwardly pleased that he had called her by her first name, something she had recently asked him to do.

"I meant, how are _you_, Dobby? How has your day been so far?" she asked with a smile.

His enormous eyes immediately began to well up with tears, something Hermione had grown accustomed to. "Harry Potter's friends are so kind to Dobby! How can Dobby serve Hermione?"

Hermione knew this was a losing battle. She could never get him into an actual conversation that didn't involve him serving her. All he wanted to do was cook and clean and serve. It was in his blood. She knew he would be happiest if she just gave him something to do. Sighing inwardly, she said in a kind tone, "Could you start some dinner?"

Dobby's chest seemed to swell with happiness. "Right away!" he cried and began scurrying around the kitchen, taking ingredients out of the pantry and starting a fire in the grate.

Within five minutes he had a rich vegetable stew boiling in a cauldron over the fire and bread baking in the oven. Hermione was always a bit amazed at how quickly he could produce a delicious meal. When the stew was ready and the bread was sitting in thick slices on a breadboard, Hermione asked, "Would you like to stay and dine with me, Dobby?"

Dobby's eyes began to tear up again as he set a large flagon of butterbeer on the table next to the breadboard. "Hermione is so kind! Dobby does not deserve it!"

"No, no, of course you deserve it, Dobby," said Hermione. "Everyone deserves kindness."

"Dobby is not worthy!" he cried, tears spilling down his face. "Harry Potter!"

Indeed, Harry had just walked down the stairs. Dobby bowed deeply.

"Dobby, you don't have to bow to him," said Hermione.

"It is an honor to serve Harry Potter!" he squeaked, staring at Harry reverently.

Hermione shook her head in exasperation at Harry.

"Hello, Dobby," he said before walking over to the table and sitting down, for he knew Hermione would throw the bread knife at him if he didn't acknowledge the over-eager house elf. "They've put some charm on the door. I couldn't hear anything."

Hermione shrugged. "Oh, well," she said. "Sit down and eat. And ask Dobby to join us."

Harry raised his eyebrows at her but turned around in his seat and said, "Dobby, would you like to join us?"

Dobby sank down into another low bow and said, "Dobby is overwhelmed by the kindness of Harry Potter and his friends! Dobby must clean!"

And then with a crack, he was gone, probably off to clean the bathroom or something. Hermione sighed sadly. She couldn't understand why Dobby wouldn't just eat with them.

"I wish I could get him to act normal," she said.

"He is acting normal," said Harry, ladling soup into two bowls for them. "For a house elf, that is. They're different from us, Hermione."

"Only because they've been treated so horribly," she said. "There's no reason why we can't change that."

"Right, well…keep trying," said Harry, though he probably couldn't have cared less about house elves changing into equal beings.

The two of them enjoyed their dinner over comfortable conversation. This was always a nice time of day, when the two of them would eat together and chat, sometimes joined by Lupin and Tonks. It was easier to forget their situation in this horrid house when there was good food and good friends around the table.

Reluctantly, about a half an hour later, Hermione began fixing up a tray for Malfoy. She hated the idea of serving him almost as much as the idea of Dobby serving her. Though the latter was much worse in her mind, since the freedom of house elves held a very special place in her heart. Also because she wasn't _actually _serving Malfoy. She wasn't bringing him food because he wanted her to or expected her to, but because he was completely defenseless and dependent on her. That thought cheered her up a bit.

She began her journey up the basement stairs with a tray of soup, bread and butterbeer, wondering if Malfoy would even accept it from her, or if he would decide to go on a hunger strike. Walking up the second flight of stairs to the bedroom, she decided she would force him to eat no matter what, since he wouldn't get better if he didn't.

She walked through the open door on the left with the tray of food and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw, to her extreme astonishment, Malfoy sitting up in bed with a rather perturbed expression on his face and Crookshanks curled up in his lap, purring loudly.

_Crookshanks…in Malfoy's lap!_ her mind screamed.

"What have you done to Crookshanks!" shrieked Hermione, almost dropping the tray of food.

Malfoy looked up at her in surprise. "What do you mean, what have _I_ done? The stupid beast won't leave me alone!" he said, trying to shove Crookshanks off his lap. Crookshanks just dug his claws into Malfoy's legs, causing him to yelp in pain. "You see! The bloody animal won't get off me!"

Hermione watched in amazement as her beloved cat retracted his claws from Malfoy's pants, curled back up in the git's lap, and resumed purring. This was how Crookshanks acted when he _liked_ someone. But _Malfoy_? What was Crookshanks thinking?

"That's…_strange_," she said after a moment, with marked distaste in her tone. "He's usually such a good judge of character…Just _how_ did this come about?"

Malfoy made another attempt to shove the cat off, which only ended in another yelp of pain. "It's obviously not _too good _a judge of character, it belongs to _you, _after all. And I didn't do anything, it just came in the room—_you _left the bloody door open—and it…_pranced_ onto the bed and started…making that noise," he said, pointing a finger at the purring Crookshanks, "and…_rubbing_ itself on me and…_would you just get the damn thing away from me!_"

"_First of all_," started Hermione indignantly, slamming the tray of food down forcefully on the bed, "Crookshanks is not an 'it' or a 'thing.' Crookshanks is a '_him_'. Second of all," she said, pointing a finger at Crookshanks, "that noise is called _purring_. I'm sure you've never heard of it, as the only animals you keep around are vile, venomous _snakes_."

Malfoy glowered at her, readying himself for word-battle. "Yes, well at least snakes don't leave disgusting patches of fur all over your robes," he said, gesturing towards his now-furry robes. "Quite the effect you would have if you rubbed your bushy head against something."

Hermione's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped at the nerve of him. She quickly composed herself. "At least _my_ hair doesn't look like a…_wax helmet_, you greasy, slimy _bastard_," she said, grabbing Crookshanks around the middle and wrenching him off of Malfoy's lap. As Malfoy howled in pain from his freshly shredded legs, Hermione stormed out the door with an incensed Crookshanks held at arm's length.

* * *

That _bitch_! He hadn't even done anything wrong! It was the bloody cat's fault! He didn't even _want_ the furry, squashed-faced monster around.

_People really do begin to resemble their fucking pets_, he thought, boiling mad. His legs were stingy and itchy from the scratches and his pants were all torn. Thanks to Granger, who was apparently in love with her stupid cat.

And what had the mudblood called his hair? A _wax helmet_? She was delusional! Draco's hair had the refined, polished look of a Malfoy, just as his father had taught him to wear it.

And what did Granger know about hair anyway? She had a bloody shrubbery on top of her head! Not to mention her stupid friends, wild-haired Potty and the red-headed Weasel.

Draco ran his hands through his sleek, blond hair, wishing so badly that he had the strength to stand up and tower over Granger to intimidate her. He was so sick of having to lay here in bed while she ran her mouth at him, making him drink her horrible potions and setting her demented cat loose on him. He wished he had his wand. Then he could at least set her stupid hair on fire.

* * *

After depositing Crookshanks in his basket in her room, Hermione paced around angrily. Malfoy had called Crookshanks a stupid beast! And he had made fun of her hair! She hoped he was bleeding to death from his cat wounds. She wondered more than ever, WHY WAS SHE DOING THIS? Why was she taking care of this horrible creature named Draco Malfoy? Why had she swayed Lupin and Mr. Weasley to let her continue healing him. WHY?

Something had to change. The current situation was unbearable. She stormed back down the hallway, trying to convince herself that killing Malfoy was _not_ the solution.

* * *

An extremely irate Hermione Granger burst back through the door, startling Draco. Before he could even tell her to get out, she jumped into a vigorous speech.

"I'm only going to explain this once, Malfoy, so shut your mouth and listen. Harry and I just convinced the Order of the Phoenix to let me continue healing you. Not because we're trying to put you through hell, or because we want something from you, but because you _need_ our help and we are honorable people, unlike yourself. _Believe me_, I want you gone as much as you want to leave. That's why I need you to stop being a complete ass, and just cooperate with me. Don't call me names, don't insult me, don't talk to me, don't even _look at me_ if you don't want to, just do what I say so you can heal properly and _quickly_. Do you understand?"

Draco was momentarily taken aback by this. Then he recovered and got very angry. "No!" he yelled. "I don't understand! If you don't want me here, then _let me leave!_"

"Where would you go!" she yelled back.

"Why do you care! It's none of your business! Just throw me out the door!"

"No!"

"Why not!"

"Because you need our help!"

"But I don't want it! My body is useless, just let me die!"

Hermione's eyes went wide and she let out a tiny gasp. "How can you say that? How can you say you want to die?"

"Because I do," he said.

"No you don't!" cried Granger. "You don't really want to die!"

"How the hell would you know?" he said. "Have you ever lost your parents, mudblood? _Have you!_ Have you ever been shunned by the only people you _thought_ you trusted? Have you ever been stabbed by the man you looked up to since your first bloody year? Have you ever been so _fucking_ weak that you had to rely on a girl half your size to help you to the _fucking bathroom?_ _I want to die!_"

Draco suddenly realized she had tears in her eyes. What the hell was this? Was she…_crying?_ Or was she just so angry that her eyes were leaking? God, he hoped it was the second one.

But, no, suddenly she covered her face with her hands and ran out of the room, shoulders shaking.

_What the hell?_ thought Draco. What had he said to upset _her_? _He_ was the one who should be crying. Why would she react like that? Was she just really sensitive? The type of girl who starts crying when you raise your voice at her? No… He had yelled at her plenty of times before and she usually just yelled right back.

What was going on?

* * *

A/N: What did you think? REVIEW, my lovely, lovely loyal band of reviewers! 


	5. LifeSavers and the Potency of Revenge

A/N: A big THANK YOU to all my reviewers. Really, I appreciate you guys so much. (Oh and I'm so glad you made that association with the shrubbery, BonnieCharlie, that's exactly what I was thinking when I wrote it.) I have been so swamped lately with school and other crap, I've had zero time for writing this fic until just now (and believe me, I'm barely keeping my eyes open, I'm so tired.) Please, everyone, feel sorry for me. I'll try to soak up the e-pity and turn it into energy. I'm the walking dead. So anyway, back to the reason you're all here. As a reward for all the wonderful reviews you sent me I thought I'd give you this special gift: It's chapter 5! (It's a little shorter than the others, but come on, give me a break.)

Disclaimer: No, I'm not J.K. Rowling. If I was, I'd be swimming in my pool full of money with my hired pool-boy, Tom Felton. Not sitting around writing fanfics.

Chapter 5: Life-Savers and the Potency of Revenge

* * *

Hermione was sitting in the hallway outside, leaning against the wall, sobbing quietly. She hated that her heart was going out to Malfoy, but she couldn't help it. He actually wanted to die! And the way he spoke about his life…it was just so sad, so tragic. She couldn't help but feel bad for him. She just wished she hadn't started crying in front of him. Maybe he hadn't noticed.

Oh, who was she kidding. Of course he noticed. _WHY_ had she started crying? Why? The situation was heartbreaking, sure, but why did she start crying?

_It's because I'm a girl_, she told herself. _I'm emotional. And I haven't slept in a long time. _

Yes, she definitely needed to get some rest. This emotional breakdown was proof. She had planned on sleeping in the room with Malfoy, but now she wasn't so sure she could. Surely he would taunt her endlessly for her little display of girly emotion. It was embarrassing.

Her mind kept going back to the question, "how could anyone want to die?" If she was in the same situation as Malfoy, would she want to die? She thought this over for a very long time, trying to open her mind to the possibility. She thought about what it might feel like if her parents were murdered by Dumbledore. If she was shunned by the Order of the Phoenix. If someone like Lupin or Mr. Weasley stabbed her and left her for dead. If Malfoy himself found her in an alleyway and made her stay in his house with Crabbe and Goyle.

She didn't know if these comparisons were equal or not, but they did shine a bit more light on Malfoy's situation. Hermione felt saddened just thinking about them. But if they happened, would she actually want to die? Just stop living completely? She wasn't sure. But she knew she would feel absolutely miserable and depressed. It would take someone or something very powerful to make her want to go on living. Someone to take care of her, to nurture her, to push her back into the land of the living.

And suddenly, in a flash of brilliant revelation, she realized she was that person for Malfoy. She was the one in a position to take care of him and nurture him. She would be the one to pull him back. She didn't know why this thought hit her so suddenly or why it seemed to make so much sense, but she could just feel it. It felt _right_ somehow. She was his life-saver. She didn't exactly _want_ to be his life-saver and she was _damn_ sure Malfoy didn't want her to be either, but it was just… _fate_. Strange, twisted fate that no one could have anticipated.

Hermione was suddenly filled with resolve. She wiped her eyes, sniffed loudly, stood up, straightened her robes, and hitched her chin up high. She was going to walk back into that bedroom and heal Malfoy until he wanted to live again, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

Draco was still sitting up in bed thinking about what had happened. Sure, he had made girls cry before. But usually he felt a sense of pride over it. Then again, usually he knew _why_ he had made them cry. This little outburst from Granger was completely unprovoked and unexpected and he felt nothing but puzzlement over it.

He was just beginning to wonder if she was ever coming back when the door opened softly and she walked into the room. Her face was flushed and her eyes were puffy, but she didn't look sad. She looked determined. Her chin was held high and she looked Draco straight in his eyes. She sat down in the wooden chair next to the bed and cleared her throat. She spoke firmly and seriously.

"I know you don't want to be here, Malfoy. And I know you think you want to die. But you are here, and you're not going to die, and that's final. The sooner you resolve yourself to that fact, the easier this whole thing will be for you."

There was an almost dangerous gleam in her eye that told Draco she was not kidding. That she was hell-bent on keeping him here and healing him. And for a moment, he really, really just wanted to give in. He felt so weak, body and soul. He was tired of fighting. He was weak and Granger was strong. He almost wanted to just admit it. To just give in to her and let her do whatever the hell she wanted with him.

But that was not the way of a Malfoy, especially not Draco Malfoy. He would never admit defeat, especially not to this bossy, blazing-eyed, bushy-haired girl in front of him.

But apparently his few seconds of silent thought were enough to tell Granger she had won because she said, "Okay then," and stood up.

_Damn it,_ thought Draco. He should have started yelling or something. But no, he had just sat there staring at her. And now she thought he was being compliant. He had to say something to get the upper hand.

"I don't know why you're so fucking set on healing me, Granger, but there's really not anything I can do to stop you. So, fine. Heal me. Get me back to health so I can get the hell out of here. But don't think for one bloody second that you're doing me a favor."

"Fine," she said. They stared at each other for a moment. Then she pulled out her wand and did a healing charm on his legs where the cat had scratched him up. Then she repaired the rips in his pants.

"I'll need to check the dagger wound later," she said. "But right now you need to eat."

She warmed up the soup and butterbeer with her wand and set the tray of food over his legs.

"I'll be back in a little while," she said, heading out the door. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Don't care," said Draco without looking up. He was starving and currently very focused on his meal.

The stew was delicious and tasted somehow familiar. He wondered who did the cooking around here. He also wondered where "around here" actually was and how much longer he'd have to stay.

And for the first time, he stopped to think about what he would do after he left, because for the first time, he realized he was actually going to live. His whole life had been school and his family and being a Death Eater and worshipping the Dark Lord. But now that was all gone. So what would he do?

He couldn't go back to Malfoy Manor; the Death Eaters would be watching. He had no parents, no home. He certainly couldn't live a normal life, probably for the rest of his life. He'd always be glancing over his shoulder, wondering if a Death Eater was after him. He would definitely have to hide his identity. Maybe he'd change the color of his hair and move to a country far, far away. It was certainly a possibility, though the thought was daunting. He had never lived on his own before.

He wondered if Snape knew he was still alive. Had Snape just assumed that Draco would die from his injuries? Or would he have suspicions, now that no body had been found? Would Snape come looking for Draco?

And a new question hit Draco. Would he go looking for Snape? The thought was immediately…_satisfying_ to Draco. Hunting Snape. Hunting Voldemort. Hunting the Death Eaters until they were all dead. Draco fantasized about this sweet revenge for a few moments. Revenge for the pain his parents suffered before their death. Revenge for the way he himself had been treated. Ah, he could just imagine it.

Well, it was something to look forward to anyway. If he ended up living through this Hermione Granger ordeal, hunting the Death Eaters would probably become his life, he realized. And really, he had a bit of an advantage: they probably all thought he was dead. His Dark Mark was gone, so the Dark Lord would have no way of monitoring him. He would be virtually invisible. He could fly under the radar. He could sneak up on them. And then he could sneak away, without a trace.

These thoughts caused him to eat with more vigor. He suddenly felt the need to be strong. And he realized, he didn't _really_ want to die. He may have before, but not now. Not with these thoughts of revenge flowing through him. He was filled with conviction. And he suddenly had a very big change of heart.

_He_ wasn't going to run away from the Death Eaters in fear. He wasn't going to change the color of his blond hair, the proud, Malfoy color his father had passed onto him. He wasn't going to move to a country that wasn't his home. And he certainly wasn't going to give up Malfoy Manor, not the grand house his ancestors had inhabited for so many generations.

No. He was going to fight. And _they _would be running from _him_. God, the mere thought was almost intoxicating. Fighting the Death Eaters until they were all dead, Snape and Voldemort too.

Snape had said he was a disappointment. That he was not the man his father had been. Oh, how sweet it would be to prove him wrong. To have Snape at the end of his wand, begging for forgiveness.

Draco suddenly noticed that he had stopped chewing. He had gotten so caught up in his thoughts.

Revenge was a potent, potent feeling.

* * *

Hermione was in the middle of the first shower she'd had in quite a while. It was very relaxing, the heat and the steam and the scent of lavender swirling around her. She was so sleepy. She just wanted to curl up right here in the bathtub and take a nap. Ah, but soon she would be curled up in her big, soft bed and—

Wait. No, she wouldn't be in her big, soft bed. She would be in her mini-sized bed in the same room as Malfoy. She had almost managed to forget about him for a moment.

She sighed and shut off the water.

_Malfoy,_ she thought. What a strange, strange situation she was in. Taking care of Malfoy. Sleeping in the same room as Malfoy. Having Malfoy actually succumb to her.

Now, what was _that_ all about? He had actually agreed to let her heal him. In a really nasty, ungrateful way, but still, he had agreed. She really hadn't expected that from him.

_Not that he had much of an option, though,_ she thought. It was either succumb to her or die.

She had to admit, she was slightly nervous about the sleeping arrangements. She wouldn't have Harry watching over them this time. Oh, well. She didn't think Malfoy would have the strength to get out of bed by himself and try to hurt her anyway.

She stepped out of the shower and started toweling off. She wondered what Malfoy's dagger-wound would look like now. She was suddenly filled with curiosity. It took the bite off of her fatigue.

She crossed the hall to her room and was about to put on her pajamas when she realized how much Malfoy would probably laugh at her for them. They were a set of fluffy, oversized, purple pants-and-button-down-sweater pajamas. No way she could wear them in front of him. They were the type your one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old Grandma Myrtle would wear.

Wait. Why did she care what Malfoy thought?

_I don't,_ she thought. _I'm merely trying to save myself from his stinging criticism._

So instead, she donned a pair of gold, satin sleep pants that her mother had sent her last Christmas and a red, V-necked short-sleeved shirt.

_Ha,_ she thought. _Gryffindor colors._

Pleased with this choice and clutching her wand, she walked down the hallway to Malfoy's room.

* * *

When Granger walked in, Draco immediately noticed something was different about her. Normally she was wearing either enormous black robes or her frumpy school uniform. But now…she was wearing form-fitting clothes. Gryffindor colors (which nearly made him gag), but still, a major improvement. And her hair was usually a fluffy mess. But now it was hanging in shiny, wet tendrils all around her face.

_Wait,_ thought Draco. _What am I, a girl?_ Why was he paying attention to her clothing and hair?

_It's just a big change,_ he thought. _Anyone would have noticed._

Because now Hermione Granger was actually resembling a, dare he say…female?

_Okay, enough,_ he thought. _Enough of these thoughts._

It unnerved him that she could possibly manage to look so normal. It also unnerved him that he had noticed this and was now thinking of her as an actual girl.

"Done?" she asked, gesturing towards the tray of food.

"Yeah," said Draco.

She leaned over him to lift the tray away and he caught a whiff of some flowery scent.

_And now she smells like a girl too!_ thought Draco. What kind of shower did she _take_?

"What?" he heard her ask.

He realized he had been staring at her with a confused look on his face. He cleared his throat.

"Nothing," he said.

Then the look of confusion passed to her. "Okay…" she said. She set the tray aside. "Could you take your robes off? I need to see the wound."

He hesitated. "I swear, if you poke it again—"

"I'm not going to poke it," she interrupted, placing her hands on her hips.

Huh. She actually _had_ hips. Another new, unwanted discovery on Draco's part. And really, more than just hips—

_STOP,_ said his brain before he could even let his eyes roam. He didn't even want to know what other feminine growths Granger had on her body.

He began unbuttoning the front of his robes, much quicker than the first time. The hot meal had given him energy and a lot more control over his limbs, though he was still fundamentally weak.

He slipped the robes off over his arms and looked down at his wound. Looked pretty much the same to him.

"_What?_" said Granger, leaning down to get a better look. "It didn't even change!" She reached her hand up to his side.

Draco grabbed her hand.

"Don't even _think about it_," he said severely.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to poke it," she said impatiently, snatching her hand away from his. Then she reached her hand back up. He grabbed it again and looked at her in disbelief.

Her eyes flashed angrily. "I said, _I'm not going to poke it!_"

"Then what are you doing!" he said.

"I'm examining the surrounding areas!" she said exasperatedly.

He let her hand go. She flashed him a glare and then reached her hand up to gently press two fingers on the skin surrounding the wound.

"Does that hurt?" she asked.

"No," he said honestly. It only hurt when the actual wound was touched.

She pressed down in several different spots with varying amounts of pressure. Her hands were cold. A chill went up Draco's spine.

"Okay, what purpose can this possibly serve?" asked Draco impatiently.

Her brow was furrowed. He could tell she was thinking hard as she ignored his questioned.

"I've got to go check something," she said, standing abruptly and walking out the door.

Draco sighed and flopped down on his back.

* * *

Hermione was walking back up the stairs in an extremely agitated state. She had actually missed something in the book! The potion wasn't even meant to heal. It only reversed the effects of the curse. So now she would have to heal the strange wound by herself. She would have consulted Professor Lupin, but he wasn't anywhere around. Whatever. She could handle it. She would just use a regular healing spell and hope for it to work. Because, really, now that the curse was lifted, the wound should just be a regular wound. Right?

She sure hoped so.

* * *

A/N: Loyal Band of Reviewers! What do you guys think? Still moving at an okay pace? And the writing? Still good? Characters still in character? Tell me your thoughts. (Oh and nobody should feel bad about giving me ideas. I love hearing your input, even if I may not use your suggestions. I'm not the control-freak kind of author who goes crazy and kills anyone with an opinion. So feel free to say anything to me!) : ) 


	6. DreamDraco's Bruising Touch

A/N: Thanks again for all the AWESOME reviews! I thank you for all your compliments and kind words and suggestions and such. Last chapter was short, I know, but I'm trying to make my updates as frequent as possible. I know how horrible it is waiting and waiting for the next chapter to come out. This one's a normal-sized chapter. Yay! But enough from me, go read chapter 6! I hope you like it!

Disclaimer: The only profit I make off of this fic is the happiness in my heart from all the great reviews I get. J.K. Rowling gets everything else. Like actual money.

Chapter 6: Dream-Draco's Bruising Touch

* * *

Draco was in absolute agony. Pain was spreading from his dagger wound in hot, sharp flashes across his abdomen like someone was repeatedly carving lightning bolts into his flesh with a hot poker. There were black and white spots flickering all across his vision. He could hardly think straight. All his mind kept repeating was, _Granger fucked up, Granger fucked up_.

The last thing he saw was her shocked face hovering over him, her eyes wide, her hand slapped over her mouth. Then darkness overtook him and he was plunged into a world of hellish nightmares.

* * *

What to do? _WHAT TO DO! _She had uttered a simple healing charm over the dagger wound and Malfoy had immediately lapsed into convulsions, gasping and clutching at his side, staring up at Hermione with fearful, accusing eyes. Now he was lying quite still, and though he still had breath and a pulse, Hermione was in a state of paralyzed panic. What had she done wrong!

Lupin. She need Professor Lupin.

She tore out the door, into the hallway shouting, "Professor Lupin! _Professor Lupin!_"

She practically knocked Harry over in her haste to get downstairs. He steadied her and said, "Whoa! What's going on?"

"I think I may have just killed Malfoy," she said breathlessly.

"Really?" asked Harry, not sounding overly distressed.

"Harry!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "Where's Professor Lupin? I couldn't find him earlier."

"He had to leave—"

"When's he coming back?" she asked urgently, cutting him off.

"Soon, probably" said Harry.

"What about Tonks?"

"Kitchen," said Harry.

"Well go get her!" shouted Hermione, tearing back up the stairs as fast as she had descended them.

She burst back through the door. Malfoy was still breathing, though still motionless. His dagger wound was still the characteristic blackish purple, but now sported an angry red tinge all around. She felt his forehead and found to her extreme dismay that he was burning hot. Indeed, his skin was covered with a sheen of perspiration. Why would his body have reacted like this? What had she done wrong? WHY WERE HARRY AND TONKS TAKING SO LONG!

And then Tonks was there, telling Harry to calm Hermione down, kneeling beside the bed to give Malfoy a visual once-over. Then she pulled out her wand, held it over the afflicted area, and said some strange spell that Hermione had never heard before. Red sparks flared out of the tip of Tonks' wand and Tonks shook her head. She left the room hastily and when she returned two minutes later, Lupin was with her. How she had summoned him, Hermione did not know.

Lupin barely glanced at Malfoy but went straight to questioning Hermione. "Did you cast a healing charm?" he asked urgently.

"Yes," said Hermione.

"You didn't wait twelve hours!" he said, as if she would know what he was talking about.

"What? Why should I have?"

"Because," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "that potion has to pass through the body completely before you cast any healing charms. They react together otherwise."

"What are you talking about? It didn't say that in the book! And I used a healing charm on his legs earlier, and he was fine!"

"On his legs, yes. Not on the cursed flesh of the dagger wound. I told you to consult me on these matters, Hermione."

"You weren't around!" said Hermione defensively.

"Right now that potion has turned toxic in his bloodstream," he explained very quickly, as if there was hardly a second to lose. "The curse is traveling through him. I can take it out of him, but he's still going to be very, very sick. Now everyone leave the room, please."

Hermione's mouth worked open and closed like a fish. She felt so indignant that this was somehow being seen as her fault. But she couldn't think of anything to say, and so she left the room huffily, tears burning in her eyes. She went straight to her room, slamming the door behind her and throwing herself on the bed.

How was this her fault? She hadn't known about the twelve hour rule. How could she have? It wasn't in the book! Professor Lupin should have told her. How could he have expected her to know it? Was she supposed to have guessed? It wasn't her fault he was gone when she had needed his advice!

She defended her actions mentally, but deep down inside she felt like she _had_ failed. She hadn't been clever enough. Oh how she hated failure. It hit her harder than anything. It was like a punch to the gut. She still thought of Remus Lupin as one of her professors and hearing his critical words felt like failing a class assignment. It was horrible.

Not long after, she heard a soft knock at the door. "Who is it?" she called, wiping the tears from her face.

"It's me," said Harry's voice. "Can I come in?"

"Yes," said Hermione, sitting up on the bed. Harry opened the door and walked in cautiously, as if afraid of flying objects.

"You okay?" he asked, sitting beside her lightly.

"Yes," she said, sniffling. "I don't see how it's my fault."

"You couldn't have known," said Harry, patting her on the shoulder carefully. "And it doesn't matter, Malfoy's going to be fine. Just…just make sure you talk to Lupin first, next time you do anything."

Big mistake. Hermione's nostril's flared.

"_How could I have talked to him if he WASN'T EVEN IN THE HOUSE?_" she gritted out, her face turning red.

Harry jumped up. "I think I hear Tonks calling me," he said, dodging out the door before Hermione could hex him.

She let out an exasperated cry and fell back on the bed. She lay there like that for quite a long time, perhaps thirty minutes, before another fist rapped on the door.

"Hermione," called Professor Lupin. "You can come back now."

"No thank you," said Hermione. "I've had quite enough of the healing business."

There was silence on the other side for a moment. "He needs you now, Hermione. I've done all I can. His condition is…well, it's strange now. You need to see."

Hermione glanced at Crookshanks, who was now curled up in his basket, as she thought, _Curiosity killed the cat, and it may as well take me too._ She badly wanted to know what this "strange condition" was, but even more so, she wanted the ability to ignore the wretched little curious kitten inside of her that always wanted to know everything. Of course, that second part was impossible, so she opened her door and walked past Professor Lupin without even glancing at him, straight down the hall to Malfoy's room.

She saw that his condition was strange indeed. He was lying on the bed curled up on his side like a small child, one arm wrapped protectively over his body, the other reached up to press a fist tightly against his mouth. He mumbled and muttered unintelligible words and his closed eyelids fluttered and shifted as if he was having a very graphic dream.

Lupin entered behind her. "The potion is gone from his system. He'll live. But, as you can see, there were side effects. He's in some state of feverish delirium. He won't wake. But if and when he does, you'll have to make the same potion again. The curse is still upon him."

"What do you mean, _if_ he wakes?" asked Hermione with apprehension.

"His future is uncertain," replied Lupin. "I've never dealt with a case like this before. But I know he has to break this fever by himself, without the aid of magic. Any more potions or charms or spells would tip the very thin balance I've created in his blood. They would probably kill him. And I have an inkling this state he's in, this…dream state…is as much psychological as it is physical. Something he has to overcome on his own."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…I think he has some very fierce demons in the back of his mind. Things he keeps hidden. And I think they've come out now, they've overwhelmed him."

Hermione was very confused, very uncertain. "What do you want me to do?" she asked.

Lupin stared at her for a moment, as if weighing things in his mind. "You need to just be here. He's not himself. Just make sure he doesn't hurt himself, and…" he trailed off.

"And what?"

"Just…be gentle. I know you hate him and I know you have good reason to, but there is much, I think, that none of us know about him. Treat him as you would a sick child. I don't think he's much more than that right now."

Hermione looked down at Malfoy's troubled form and did indeed see the sick child Lupin referred to.

"Be careful with him. Call me if you need anything, I'll be here," he said.

Hermione nodded distractedly as Lupin headed out the door, her mind already overtaken by the boy before her. This was an odd puzzle, a mystery. She would solve it. She knelt down on the floor beside the bed, her face close to Malfoy's and said softly, tentatively, "Malfoy?"

He looked so vulnerable, so child-like. His features were screwed up in fear, an expression she couldn't remember ever seeing on his face before. What went on behind his eyes? What was he seeing? Hermione's curiosity was indeed provoked. What did it take to make Draco Malfoy whimper in fear like a small child?

His manner did not change at all. He just kept murmuring, his eyelids fluttering, his face fearful.

"Malfoy?" she said, a little bit louder this time.

Still, nothing.

"Draco?" she tried, a bit hesitantly. The name was strange and foreign on her lips, but it seemed to reach him. His eyes opened wide for the briefest of seconds and then shut tightly again. She saw that his gray eyes were wild, searching, frightened. She had never seen Malfoy in a state like this before. She had never seen anything but amusement or anger or disgust or a sneer on his face. His features looked so different now, soft, almost childlike. It frightened Hermione.

She felt his forehead and found that he was still very warm. Too warm. But she couldn't use any more magic on him. Instead, she conjured up a soft cloth and a bowl of cool water and began mopping his forehead with it, letting the water trickle down the sides of his face and into his hair.

He continued mumbling and she leaned close to hear him. She couldn't, for the life of her, make out what he was saying. It was just some kind of gibberish, some kind of nonsensical dream-language.

"Malfoy," she said, staring at him intently. "Malfoy, can you hear me?"

He made no response whatsoever, just kept mumbling. Hesitantly, Hermione reached out a hand and placed it on his bare shoulder. She shook him slightly.

"Malfoy," she said loudly. "Wake up."

He did not respond.

"Draco," said Hermione, shaking him again. "Draco, get up."

His eyes popped open at the sound of his first name as they had before. He stared at Hermione with frightened eyes for a moment, seeming not to recognize her. Then he turned his head toward his shoulder and looked at her hand resting there as if it were some interesting creature that he remembered from a story book. And in a quick, sudden movement, he grabbed onto her wrist with his hand and held onto it tightly, pulling her arm close to his body like it was some kind of doll or teddy bear. His eyes shut again and his incoherent mumbling resumed. He held on with a grip that brought tears of pain to Hermione's eyes. Where had this strength come from? Wasn't he supposed to be weak? But no, Hermione could not even get her arm away. She pried at his fingers, but they would not loosen. He just gripped even tighter, digging his fingers into her small wrist like iron claws. She gasped at the continuing pain. She brought up her wand, but realized instantly that she could not use it. She couldn't use any magic on him at all. Why was he doing this?

"Malfoy, let go!" she said in a hoarse whisper. "Let go of me! _Draco!_"

His eyes opened again at the sound of his name, but closed almost immediately. Hermione struggled against his grip, trying to pull away, but he was far too strong. Every time she tried to pull away, he just tightened his grip and pulled her arm closer, causing even more pain.

She thought of calling out to someone, Harry or Lupin, but what could either of them do? Pry him off by force? They would have to break his fingers first. So she just stopped struggling.

_Mind over matter,_ she thought.

She calmed herself with deep breaths and pushed the throbbing pain to the back of her mind. This was not Malfoy, she realized. This was some stubborn child. If she couldn't win this little battle physically, she would use her brain to outwit this stupid Dream-Draco. He acted like a stingy child clutching at a toy. (Unfortunately for Hermione, that toy was her arm and the "child" was a teenage boy with abnormally strong hands.) So she would treat him like a child.

"Draco?" she said, trying very, very hard to speak in a pleasant voice. His eyes opened and he stared at her. "Draco, I need you to let go of my arm," she said clearly and with a façade of patience, like a first-grade teacher would speak to one of her 6-year-old students. He looked slowly from Hermione's face to her arm and back again several times. At least he knew what she was talking about.

Then he closed his eyes and started mumbling again. Hermione sat very still, unsure of what to do. The pain was terrible. Her eyes were streaming. She was about to have another emotional breakdown, that was for sure. But she didn't dare move her arm, for fear of him tightening his grip even more and breaking her wrist. _MERLIN_ it hurt.

She was just contemplating sawing her own arm off when Malfoy stirred slightly and loosened his grip. He was still holding on very tightly, and it still hurt, but not nearly as much as before. Hermione silently thanked whatever gods were watching over her. She didn't even try pulling her arm away. She knew what would happen. He would just pull her back into that tear-wrenching grasp.

He was not letting go. She resigned herself to the fact that she might be sitting here on the floor for a very long time. So, trying very hard not to shift her wrist at all, she moved her legs out from under her into a more comfortable position and turned so she could lean against the side of the bed. She wondered when this would be over. When he would wake up and notice this awkward situation. She didn't even let herself think of the other possibility: that he might not wake up at all. That he might just slip deeper and deeper into himself until he died.

She realized all she could do was wait. Just wait and see where this would go. Just leave Malfoy to his own devices and hope he could fight off whatever had taken over his mind. That, and she could sleep. It had been so long. She didn't care that this was probably one of the most uncomfortable positions she had ever experienced in her entire life. She was exhausted, literally. She could go on no further. She…

And then she was asleep, her head resting lightly on the bed not six inches from Malfoy's own.

ZZZ

She woke with a start and couldn't immediately remember where she was. Then it all came back to her with a gasp and she realized Malfoy was shaking and groaning and writhing around in front of her, still holding onto her wrist, still in that strange dream state. But he was acting differently now. He was panicky, sweating, and speaking real words.

"No!" he cried out in a half-whisper, as if he struggled to form the words. "NO! They didn't…they didn't do…take me!…NO! Not her! NOT HER!"

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he struggled violently against invisible barriers, still grasping onto Hermione's arm tightly. She just watched him aghast, her eyes wide, her mouth dangling open. What in the world was wrong with him?

"Malfoy!" she shouted at him, returning to her senses. "Draco Malfoy, WAKE UP!" And she slapped a hand across his cheek, for no longer could she stand the pain in her wrist. She had to be free of him. He had to wake up. NOW. She reached down for the bowl of water she had used to cool his face and dumped it on his head. Then she threw it on the floor with a crash and slapped him again, a loud, wet, stinging slap. Lupin wanted her to treat Malfoy like a sick child? TOO BAD. She had endured this pain long enough.

Malfoy's eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up. His eyes were wild, confused, his breathing labored, his face streaming with water and tears. He looked Hermione straight in the eye and she knew he was really seeing her this time.

"_They made me watch_," he said hoarsely, searching her face frantically as if trying to see if she understood. He must have seen nothing but her confusion. "_They made me watch!_" he repeated with more urgency, grabbing the front of Hermione's shirt with his other hand and pulling her closer.

"They—they? Who? Watch what?" she stammered.

"The Dark Lord," he whispered, his eyes wide. "He made me…he made me watch it—I couldn't save them, I couldn't—"

And comprehension hit Hermione over the head like a sledgehammer. She gasped.

_His parents_.

"They made you watch while he…murdered your parents?" she asked in a tiny whisper.

He nodded fractionally, staring wildly back and forth between each of her eyes. "He—he tortured them first…_my mother_—I couldn't stop it…I couldn't…I…"

And then his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell limp onto the bed. Hermione was…shocked, to put it mildly. She couldn't move, couldn't even think of moving. Couldn't even remember what moving felt like. She just knelt there staring at Draco Malfoy with wide eyes. It might have been thirty seconds, might have been thirty minutes before she realized that his hand was relaxed and she could reclaim her arm. She rubbed the feeling back into it, seeing even in the dim lighting of the room that bruises were already cropping up. She didn't know what to think, or what to feel. He had just shared his nightmare with her. Now she knew what haunted him: he had been forced to watch his parents be tortured and then murdered by Voldemort. She couldn't even imagine what that might do to someone, especially someone so young.

Hermione's heart was racing. She felt faint. She stood up and walked blindly to her own bed where she laid down and pressed her hands to her forehead, as if trying to stifle the thoughts that overwhelmed her mind.

But his eyes. The confusion, the pain in them. Malfoy was tortured by these memories. And he had actually shared them with her. She wondered how lucid he had really been. She wondered if he would remember any of this when he woke the next time.

* * *

Draco woke to a splitting headache and the memory of many strange, horrible nightmares. He felt like all the life had been sucked out of him. He lifted his head weakly from his pillow and searched his surroundings with his eyes. What drew his attention immediately was the sight of Granger, fast asleep in her bed. She had been in his dreams. He thought back to them…he remembered a feeling of helplessness and despair. He had held onto Granger right here in this room and shared with her that horrifying memory of his parents that he kept always locked away. He had told her and she had understood. It had felt so good to share it with someone, even if only in a dream, and even if that someone was Hermione Granger. It had felt comforting to see his own horror mirrored in someone else's eyes. It lightened the heavy load that constantly pressed down on his conscience. It made him feel less…alone.

Slowly, the memories of everything else came back. Granger saying the charm. Pain lancing from his dagger wound. Some man shoving potions down his throat and uttering difficult spells. Then the dreams. The nightmares. And now, finally, reality.

He was thirsty. And he needed the bathroom.

_Damn bodily functions to hell,_ he thought bitterly. This time he would make it on his own. He was not about to wake up Granger to ask her for help walking down the hallway. Hell, no. He was Draco Malfoy. He could do anything if he really wanted to.

Slowly, painfully, he wrenched his body into a sitting position. He steadied himself with a few deep breaths and then lowered his feet onto the floor. Supporting his weight on the bedpost, he stood, shakily to his feet. So far, so good. Now for the actual walking part.

Not so easy. Was it possible that he was even weaker than before? It sure felt like it as he put all his might into a few baby steps.

_Why am I not wearing a shirt?_ he suddenly realized. He hated this feeling of not being in control. He looked down at his dagger wound. Still there, still gross, still painful. Granger was obviously not cut out to be a healer.

More baby steps. He reached the door and went to twist the door handle. Why did his hand hurt so much? Strange. The door opened with a creak.

And damn it, Granger woke up.

"Malfoy? What…?" she questioned groggily, rubbing her eyes and lowering her feet to the floor.

Draco was extremely unhappy to see her awake, but extremely _happy_ to see her hair back to the poofy mess he was used to. She looked like some kind of furry cat monster wearing gold pants.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently with a concerned look.

This was certainly…new. He looked at her quizzically. "…Not especially…" he said.

"What are you doing?" she asked, apparently just realizing he was halfway out the door.

"Trying to get down the hallway. If you don't mind…" he said, taking another baby step out the door. Oh, how ridiculous he must look to her.

But suddenly she was there beside him, clutching her arm around his bare waist.

"Don't be stupid," she said. "You can't walk on your own."

This surprised him. He tried to step away from her, but only managed to stumble into the doorjamb. She caught him.

"Told you," she said.

He looked down at the arm that seemed to be so willingly clutching onto him. And his eyes went wide.

"What the fuck…?" he said, lifting her arm away and holding it up to the light in front of him. Her thin, pale wrist was covered in dark bruises. She snatched it away and hid it behind her back.

"It's nothing," she said.

"Nothing?" he asked skeptically, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her wrist back up in front of his face. He stared at her, daring her with his eyes to try and say "It's nothing," again, when it was obviously not nothing.

"Who did this?" he asked.

She looked at him with a deeply curious expression. "You don't remember?" she asked.

His eyes went wide in sudden realization. The dream. His aching hand. Her bruises. It had been real.

He dropped her arm as if she had burned him, stumbled back inside the room, and slammed the door in her confused face.

* * *

A/N: Ha-cha-cha…You know what to do. REVIEW! My unwaveringly loyal band of reviewers, tell me what you thought of this chapter! 


	7. A Surprise Compromise

A/N: You guys ready for more? Hope so, because here's chapter 7. Thanks for all the great reviews, they put a big goofy smile on my face. Oh and everyone say hi to Tinyminx! She's an honorary reader. (great name by the way) Anyway, go read. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 7: The Surprise Compromise

Disclaimer: I own everything.

* * *

_It was real. It was real. It was real._

These were the words that swirled around Draco's mind like a raging tornado as he sat on the floor, propped up against the side of the bed, breathing hard and shaking all over. It was real! Granger had really been there last night and he had really told her about his parents. It wasn't just a dream. How could he have done that? How could he have told her? It was _Granger_. Now she would know how weak and troubled he was. How could he have let her see him in that state? Scared, frantic, crying. She had seen him _cry_. How could he have let his guard down like that? This was horrible.

And maybe, _maybe_, he could have played it off like it wasn't a big deal, but not now. Not after he had reacted like that, slamming the door in her face. It had just been such a sudden shock, to realize that his dream of Granger had really occurred. She had really been there beside him and he had really held onto her, hard enough to bruise her small wrist, hard enough to leave his own hand aching. And the look in her eyes, he remembered clearly. They weren't the eyes of an enemy, who might have been satisfied to learn of the horror he felt over his parents' death. They were the eyes of…what? A friend? No. Something in between. Not an enemy or a friend, just…someone who understood. But how could that be? He knew she hated him.

Yet, just minutes ago, she had helped him willingly. And she hadn't even been mean about it. Like she was…

Oh shit. Like she was feeling sorry for him. She was _pitying_ him. She probably thought now that he had shared his "feelings" with her, he must need her help and want her sympathy. Damn it. He didn't want anything from her. He had to clear this up right now.

"Mudblood!" he yelled, too weak to stand up and find her.

She entered the room almost immediately, as she had probably been waiting outside. Her eyes were narrowed angrily at the oh-so-familiar nickname.

"I want an explanation," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "What the hell happened with the healing charm?"

She stared at him for a moment as if she was contemplating just turning around and walking out the door. Then she crossed her arms and looked down at him levelly. "I didn't wait twelve hours," she said in a flat voice. "The healing charm reacted with the potion. It basically turned into poison, I guess. Professor Lupin had to save you. You should thank him if you get a chance."

Draco was breathing hard, trying to keep his anger under control. "So you're telling me you fucked up _again_?"

Granger gave him a furious glare and then turned on her heel and started walking out the door.

"I'm not done with you!" Draco yelled after her. She didn't stop.

Oh, Draco was angry. It made his blood boil when people disobeyed him. He had more to say to her.

He summoned every last ounce of energy in his body and pushed himself to his feet, leaning on the bed for support. Then he half-walked, half-stumbled to the doorway and saw a flash of angry eyes and curly hair as Granger stepped through a doorway at the opposite end of the hall and slammed the door behind her.

Draco took a few deep breaths and began walking down the hallway, leaning against the wall for support. It was unbelievably difficult. His legs were wobbly and his dagger wound throbbed painfully.

_Keep breathing, keep walking, one foot in front of the other,_ he mentally coached himself. His progress was extremely slow. He was ready to collapse about halfway there. But he kept going. His anger spurred him on. He wanted to scream at Granger for making him go through all this effort. He wanted to hold her against a wall by her throat until he saw fear in her eyes. Unfortunately, by the time he got to her door, he probably wouldn't be able to even stand up anymore.

He held onto the doorframe for support and pounded furiously on her door. He heard a little gasp from inside. Then the door opened slowly and Granger's head poked out through the crack, her eyes wide.

"You walked—" she began, but Draco cut her off by pushing the door open and grabbing her by the front of the black robes she now wore.

"_You don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you_," he said into her startled face.

She was momentarily taken aback and then shrieked, "Let me go!" and pushed him away.

It was too much. His knees gave out. One tiny push from a girl half his size and he was done for. With a grunt, he fell to the ground, still holding onto her robes. She came down with him, her knees hitting the floor with a dull thud. She gasped as she tumbled onto him, his torso breaking her fall. He let out a hiss of breath as pain lanced up his sides.

Granger recovered quickly, pushing herself off of him and plopping onto the ground a safe distance away. But Draco was feeling a lot of pain. His ribs had already been very sore and the force of Granger landing on top of him didn't help any.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a little voice.

He didn't even answer her. He wrapped his arms weakly around his throbbing torso and turned on his side away from her, trying to get his breathing under control, trying to stop the stars from dancing in front of his eyes. He distantly heard the sound of her walking away and wondered vaguely where she was going. Then she was back, urging him into a sitting position with her hands on his shoulders.

"Come on, Malfoy," she said quietly, wrapping a set of plain black robes around him. Propped against the wall, his eyes shut tightly in pain, feeling rather helpless and resigned, Draco let her button up the robes. He opened his eyes when she was done and noticed her wrist as she pulled her hands away. It reminded him of why he had been so angry in the first place and why he had made this futile journey down the hallway.

"I was delirious last night," he said in a low voice, "when I…told you those things. I didn't realize it was you. I thought I was dreaming. So don't think it meant anything. Just forget it happened."

Granger tilted her head slightly and looked at him curiously. "That's not likely," she said.

"What?"

"That I'll forget it happened."

"_Why?_" he asked with an edge to his voice.

"This is a pretty good reminder," she said, holding out her wrist.

He scowled. "It's not my fault you bruise easily."

She laughed scornfully. "No, no. It would be impossible _not_ to bruise after that. Let me show you, give me your wrist."

He looked as if he might say no for a second, but then held out his wrist. She took it between both of her hands and squeezed them together tightly until her face turned red with the effort and the corner of Draco's mouth twitched in pain.

"Hours of that," she said, releasing his wrist.

He scowled even more. "Why didn't you just stop me?"

"I couldn't. You wouldn't let go. And I'm not allowed to do any magic on you."

"Why not?" he asked, resisting the urge to rub his wrist. Yeah, it hurt.

"Professor Lupin said any more magic would probably kill you. I don't know if that's still the case right now, but sometime in the near future you're going to have to take that potion again."

His nostrils flared angrily. "Maybe if you had done it right the _first_ time—"

"Don't even start, Malfoy," she said, cutting him off. "I'm doing the best that I can."

"I doubt that," he said. "You probably don't even want me to get better. You enjoy seeing me in this state. You think it's funny that you can order me around with no consequences. I can see it in your eyes. You think it's amusing that you've nearly killed me several times and there's nothing I can do about it. You like the thought of having control over me."

"That's not true," she said quietly.

"Yes it is. You like the fact that you can say anything to me and then walk away before I have a chance to respond."

Draco saw a spark of anger in her eyes. "Oh, and what am I supposed to do? Stand around while you call me a _mudblood_?"

He was slightly surprised to hear that word coming out of her mouth, but he didn't show it. "Maybe if you weren't so fucking sensitive, you could handle it."

"Maybe if you weren't such a brute, you could carry on an argument without resorting to name-calling."

They glared at each other angrily for a few moments, the tension between them palpable.

"You learn to finish a conversation and stop telling me what to do, and I'll consider discontinuing my use of the word mudblood," he said.

_I just made a compromise,_ he thought immediately, wishing the words had not been spoken. He didn't know where they came from.

She blinked in surprise. "Okay…" she said. "But you still have to do what I say if you want to get better."

"No," he said. "I will _follow your_ _suggestions_ if they happen to suit me. I don't take orders from you."

"Fine," she said. "I _suggest_ you get back into bed and rest until I talk with Professor Lupin. Does that suit you?"

"No," he said. "I'm going to take a shower—_without your assistance_—while you do…whatever it is you do while you're not making my life miserable."

"Wonderful," she said, unsmilingly. "Have fun getting there by yourself."

And then she stood, walked down the hallway, and descended the stairs without a backward glance at him.

* * *

Hermione felt a little bit guilty about leaving Malfoy there by himself, but he had made it quite clear that he didn't want her assistance. So, fine. She wouldn't help him. 

It was kind of hard to believe that he had actually compromised. Whether or not he would actually stop calling her a mudblood remained to be seen. Also, whether or not she would be able to stop bossing him around. He had hit very close to the mark with his, "You like the thought of having control over me" remark. Yes, it had been somewhat fun before, being able to boss him around. It was a sort of revenge for all the years he had been horrible to her. She would admit that.

But it wasn't fun anymore, not after last night's revelation. It made Hermione realize that there were more layers to Draco Malfoy than he let on. Which wasn't a good thing for Hermione. It was much easier for her when she could just see him as the horrible boy who called her a mudblood and tormented her friends. Now he had _layers_. She had to consider him as a real person. Who would have thought Draco Malfoy might have feelings?

Hermione sighed. She wondered how he was doing, if he had fallen down or fainted yet. She was almost tempted to turn around and check on him. But she resisted the urge, just barely. She continued walking down to the kitchen where she heard the voices of Lupin and Harry.

The two of them were sitting at the table discussing something quietly.

"Am I interrupting?" she asked, walking into the room.

Harry gave her a small smile. "Nope, come on in."

"How is the boy?" asked Lupin as Hermione sat down.

"The _boy_ is doing just fine," she said. "Up walking around by himself, generally being very ill-tempered. Am I allowed to use magic on him again?"

"No," said Lupin. "Not until after we give him the potion again. _Twelve hours_ after we give him the potion again."

Hermione scowled at Lupin as Harry silently moved the knife and breadboard out of Hermione's reach.

"Right," said Harry. "Twelve hours. A time period very easily overlooked and sometimes even forgotten about altogether, even by really good witches who…happen to be looking very nice this morning."

Hermione almost laughed at Harry's attempt to pacify her. But she kept up her glare. "Yes, it is _quite_ easy to overlook things when you're not told about them," she said.

"Okay, enough," said Lupin dismissively, waving a hand across the air. "It's of no consequence. If he's up and walking around, he should be well enough to take the potion again. I'll get it started in a few minutes."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "_You'll_ get it started? What, do you not trust me to make potions correctly anymore?"

Lupin sighed. "No, I just want to be one-hundred percent sure on this one. It's nothing to do with your potion skills, which I know are more than adequate. You shouldn't take offense so easily. And besides, you'll be busy taking care of Draco. You'll—_what's wrong with your wrist?_"he asked suddenly.

Hermione glanced down at her bruised wrist where the sleeve of her black robes had slid up her arm. She glanced at Harry and Lupin, who were both staring intently at the purplish bruises. She didn't even bother trying to cover them up.

"Did Malfoy do that?" asked Harry, a spark of anger flaring to life in his eyes.

Hermione let out a deep breath. "Yes. He was delirious at the time. So sit back down in your chair right now, Harry."

Harry, who had popped out of his seat at the word "Yes," slowly lowered himself back down to listen to Hermione. He had a stony look on his face, his jaw clenched tightly, his lips pressed together.

"This is exactly what we were worried about, Hermione," said Lupin, who looked on the verge of anger himself.

"You told us he was too weak to do any harm," said Harry.

"Calm down!" exclaimed Hermione, before they could say anything else. "Did you not hear me? I said he was _delirious_. As in, not himself."

"That's supposed to comfort us?" asked Harry. "He's Malfoy, he's even worse as himself!"

"This proves that he's a hazard to you," said Lupin.

Hermione sighed in aggravation. "Yes, and one time Harry bumped into me on the stairs and gave me a bruise. Does that make him a hazard?"

"Don't start making those kind of arguments," said Lupin. "The point is, Malfoy has the ability and the will to harm you."

"But it wasn't even an act of violence!" said Hermione. "He was having nightmares. He was scared, he was just holding onto my wrist."

Both Lupin and Harry's eyebrows raised at that. Hermione glanced down at the dark bruises.

"Okay, _squeezing the life out of my wrist_," she amended. "But he wasn't doing it to hurt me."

"No, no," said Harry. "Go back to the scared part. What?"

Oh. Harry wanted to know about Malfoy's fears. Hermione thought to tell him about Malfoy's parents, and was on the verge of doing so, when something inside her said very softly, _No, it's a secret, it's Malfoy's secret, and you're the only one he's told. _The other part of her immediately screamed, _BUT IT'S HARRY, YOU HAVE TO TELL HIM! _And for the smallest of moments, the two voices battled it out inside her head. But in the end, for whatever reason, Hermione went with the soft little voice that seemed to be speaking from her heart. The thought of bringing out Malfoy's painful feelings like they were the latest gossip just seemed grotesque to her.

"He was just having nightmares," she said. "They scared him. It's not that difficult a concept to understand." It wasn't a lie. She wouldn't lie to Harry. But she could bend the truth a little and leave certain things out. "Now if you'll excuse me," she continued, "I need to go check on him."

Both Lupin and Harry looked as if they wanted to say more, but neither did. Hermione pushed back her chair and stood up. With one last glance to both of them, as if daring them to try and stop her, she turned and began walking away.

"One moment," said Lupin. Hermione turned around slowly and looked at him. He was holding up his wand. "Let me see your wrist," he said.

She sighed impatiently and walked over to him. He muttered a healing charm that made Hermione's wrist tingle and then said in a very serious tone, "Be cautious. Don't let your guard down."

She nodded at him and gave a very uncertain looking Harry a little wave before climbing up the stairs.

The entire time Hermione was in the kitchen, the thought of Malfoy trying to get around on his own kept nagging at the back of her mind. It's the same feeling you get when you think you may have left the stove on in your house, but you're not sure. You might get home and find your house burned down. Or in Hermione's case, you might walk up the stairs and find Malfoy lying dead on the floor.

The image gave her a chill. She practically ran up the second flight of stairs to the hallway, anticipating the sight of Malfoy sprawled out on the floor before her.

But, no. He was not in sight. She walked quickly to the bathroom door and heard the sound of running water coming from inside.

Huh. He had actually made it.

"Are you alright in there?" she called loudly.

She heard an exaggerated sigh. "Go away!" shouted Malfoy.

_I'll take that as a yes,_ she thought, rolling her eyes. But she couldn't help but feel a profound sense of relief, which was kind of…weird. She shrugged and shook off the feeling and pulled out her wand.

Malfoy would need a fresh set of clothes. Harry's clothes, of course. This situation struck Hermione as very funny indeed and she was smiling slightly as she summoned a pair of boxers, sweatpants, and a loose t-shirt from Harry's room.

_Draco Malfoy wearing Harry Potter's underpants…_thought Hermione, releasing a tiny giggle. She couldn't help it. It was so ridiculous.

And what would Malfoy say when he saw these muggle clothes? Oh, as if it mattered. He needed to be in loose, comfortable clothing if he was going to be lying in bed all day. It was just common sense. And if he didn't like this _suggestion_, he could just shove his complaint up his—

_Creak_.

"I would accio myself a towel, but seeing as Potter has my wand…" said Malfoy in low voice from behind the door, his face visible between the crack.

Hermione jumped at his sudden appearance. "Oh, right…" she said, quickly summoning a towel. She handed the whole bundle over to Malfoy through the door. The two of them shared a strange glance before he closed the door again. Strange meaning, not entirely full of hatred. Just kind of…neutral. A mutual resignation to a strange situation.

Or maybe not. Maybe Hermione just imagined it. Could Malfoy's eyes hold anything _but_ hatred in the first place? Maybe it was the dim lighting playing a trick on her.

And yet, she couldn't help but flash back to the night before when he had searched her eyes almost frantically, trying to share with her his own fear. His eyes hadn't held any hatred then. Of course, he had been delusional at the time, but still. It showed that he was capable of more emotions than anger and hatred. So maybe his glance just now _had_ been neutral.

Why was she thinking about it so much? It was just a glance. Maybe he was too tired to channel any hatred right now.

_Still thinking about it,_ she chided herself. But she didn't have much more time to think about it anyway, for the door opened and Malfoy appeared in the doorway, muggled-out and clutching onto both sides of the doorframe for support.

Hermione's eyes widened slightly. He looked almost…_normal_. Without his severe black robes, and with his hair falling in loose, wet strands across his face, Hermione forgot for a second that he was _Draco Malfoy_. Because, all things considered, he looked…well…almost…

Luckily Hermione didn't have to finish that particular thought, for it was at that moment that she noticed how pale Malfoy's face was and how his whole body was shaking like a leaf. Her brow furrowed in concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked in an almost gentle voice, taking a half-step towards him.

He put on a scowl. "I'm getting tired of that question," he said in a tightly controlled tone, trying to move past her into the hallway. But he lost his balance after only two steps and didn't have anything to grab onto.

Except Hermione herself.

She let out a little gasp at the sight of him falling towards her. But she reacted instantly, moving forward to catch him around the waist. He clutched onto her upper arms automatically, trying to keep himself from crashing to the floor. For the few seconds they were caught up in this strange little embrace, their bodies were very close, and Hermione could feel how quickly his heart was beating and how badly his entire body was shaking. She turned her head slightly and looked up at his face and her eyes locked with his and another one of those strange glances passed between them. But she wasn't quite sure what this one contained.

Then he pulled away from her unsteadily and she dropped her hands to her sides and they stood facing each other, not too far apart, looking at each other uncertainly.

"You're very sick," said Hermione after a moment. "I need to get you into bed."

And then, unexpectedly, Malfoy's face broke into a smirk. And Hermione realized what she said.

"Not like that!" she said immediately.

But he was already off in smirk-land and all Hermione could do was sigh in exasperation.

"Let's go," she said.

* * *

On opposite day. 

A/N: What did you think? Review, my awesomely loyal band of reviewers! I thought you guys might be getting sick of cliff-hangers, however slight they may have been before. So this one's got a boring ending, just to shake things up a bit. Oh yeah, and I notice I've been getting a lot of hits on my profile. But it's blank. And I'm really not sure what a profile is supposed to look like. So I guess if there's anything you want to know about me, you can just ask. I might tell you. I might not. Anyway, review!


	8. The Reappearance of Ron

A/N: I know, I know… "WHY THE DELAY!" Don't be mean to me…I'm doing the best I can. After one computer was taken from my room and the other one just DIED, I was left without resources. Plus I had a bad cold. But now both computers are replaced and my phlegm levels are down to a minimum and I found some spare time and some motivation. SO! Here's chapter 8. Meep! I love this chapter so very much.…I hope you do too. (And I hope you like sexual tension, teehee…you'll see…) And thanks for all the reviews on chapter 7! They were wonderful. : )

Chapter 8: The Reappearance of Ron

Disclaimer: All characters and such belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

When Draco and Hermione were about halfway back to the room, Draco realized he was still smirking and quickly wiped the expression off his face. His reaction of amusement to Granger's "I need to get you into bed" comment suddenly seemed inappropriate to him. A stern voice inside his head seemed to be telling him, _that shouldn't be amusing. You should feel only repulsion for anything sexual having to do with Granger. _

Right? Yes. Repulsion. Disgust. It wasn't funny. Not funny at all.

Okay, it was a little bit funny. Granger's embarrassment, anyway. She blushed so easily, Draco observed.

You see, in a normal situation, with a girl who wasn't repulsive, (i.e., a girl who wasn't a mudblood gryffindor) Draco's natural reaction to a slipup like "I need to get you into bed" would be to flash the blushing girl his trademark smirk and maybe drawl out some suggestive comment. But with Granger…he couldn't do that. She was in league with Potter and she was a mudblood and was, therefore, not _really _a girl.

So why had he smirked at her like she was some normal girl?

_It was a reflex,_ he told himself. _Just a reflex._

But it meant he would have to watch himself and make sure it didn't happen again. Granger was Granger and that was that. He would treat her like he always had. No exceptions.

But it was getting harder and harder to judge what was right and what was wrong in this messed up situation. Was it wrong that he currently had his hand around her waist as they made their way down the hallway?

_No_, he thought. _I can't walk on my own. I need the support. That's all. I'm using her for support. _

Okay. But was it wrong that he felt like his hand was on fire? Was it wrong that his heart was beating like a rabbit's, for seemingly no reason at all? Was it wrong that a small corner of his mind was noticing the warm, gentle curve of Granger's side under her drab black robes?

Well, yes. That was all a little bit wrong. _But_ he could explain it easily in his mind. He was sick. Feverish. Of course his heart would be beating fast. Of course he would feel a little bit hot. And not hot like _that_. Hot as in, extremely warm. Yes, it all made sense.

Except for the information his hand was sending back to that small corner of his mind. It seemed to be tauntingly saying, "Ha! Hermione Granger has a woman's body and you're noticing it! You've sunken to a new low, Draco! Take that, pride!"

Draco would have felt shameful if not for the quick excuses some other portion of his mind was offering. "You can't help it, Draco. You're a man. It's only natural. It doesn't mean anything. You're just a red-blooded teenager. She has a nice body. Big deal. Get over it."

Yes. Get over it. That's all. Recognize it for what it is (absolutely nothing) and forget about it. It's just a weak sort of animal attraction. Forget about it.

Suddenly, shaking Draco from his thoughts, a pair of voices could be heard drifting up from the stairs. Two voices which, when paired together, made Draco's blood boil. He stopped dead in his tracks.

And then the heads of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley popped up at the top of the stairs and their conversation stopped abruptly as they spied the scene before them: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger standing stock still, each with an arm wrapped tightly around the other's waist, both breathing hard, one looking pale and angry, the other looking like Christmas had just arrived.

Draco glanced down and noticed with dismay the broad grin that painted Granger's face and brightened her eyes.

"Ron!" she squealed, immediately reclaiming her arm and tearing herself away from Draco's grasp to practically skip over to Weasley and throw her arms around his neck.

_Disgusting,_ thought Draco, teetering on his feet slightly, finding the wall behind his back with his hand and leaning against it for support.

A strange and unwanted feeling of possessiveness suddenly rose inside of him as he watched Weasley wrap his arms happily around Granger's small waist. This was _his_ nurse and she was supposed to be helping _him_. He was in a lot of pain and needed to get back to bed and these two goons were trying to steal her away.

These sudden thoughts filled Draco with both anger and repulsion. Anger at Potter and Weasley for said reasons and repulsion at himself for having these weird feelings regarding Granger.

Why should he care if she wants to run off with those two and leave him alone? Hell, that would be great. Get her out of his hair for a while. Right? Yeah, that's how he felt. Definitely. Let them have her. He didn't need _or_ want her.

With a glare that was lost on all three of the stupid Gryffindors (seeing as they were currently blinded by their happy glow of friendship), Draco began making his own, slower way back to his room, mustering up all the pride he had and converting it into energy.

He felt extremely vulnerable at the moment. Having all three of them together right in front of him made Draco feel very uneasy. Especially since he had no wand and no Crabbe and Goyle. It was just him versus the insufferable trio. And he could very well see that they had the upper hand.

He was almost to the door when Granger turned around to look at him and Potter and Weasley turned their attention on him as well. Their grins ebbed away as they seemed to remember he was there and whatever mindless conversation they had been having dissolved. Draco glared malevolently at them.

Granger sighed and walked over to him, saying, "Let me help you, Malfoy," a phrase that caused Weasley's eyebrows to skyrocket off his face. As Granger went to take Draco's arm, Draco pulled away violently and hissed, "I don't need your help, mudblood."

Her eyes rounded in shock and Weasley immediately began shouting some incoherent words of outrage. But Granger's expression was all Draco really noticed, even though he could hear Potter and Weasley scuffling in the background, probably one holding the other back from an attempt on his life. He currently didn't give a shit.

For a moment it was just his eyes and Granger's eyes, hers asking his, _Why? Why would you call me that after we made an agreement? _

And then the red-headed beast broke free and stomped towards Draco, drawing up his wand with a murderous gleam in his eyes. Funny. This scenario seemed very familiar to Draco. Only last time, there were slugs.

But before Weasley could do anything stupid, Granger tore her eyes from Draco's and twirled around on the spot, planting herself firmly between the two boys. In a cold, authoritative voice, she said, "_Ronald Weasley, put that wand down_."

To Draco's amusement he actually froze, like some obedient mutt, and lowered his wand. But the anger in his eyes was not extinguished and Potter was standing at the ready with a restraining hand on Weasley's shoulder. "Mudblood" was apparently a very, very powerful word with these people.

Draco was about to smirk at Weasley when Granger turned on him, eyes flashing angrily.

"_And you,_" she said, standing with her hands clenched up in little fists at her sides for a moment.

Then she grabbed Draco by the front of his shirt with both her hands and pressed him backwards through the open door of the bedroom, pausing for just a second to slam the door closed behind her before shoving him onto the bed.

Draco was too surprised to resist, or even react for a few moments. Mostly he was filled with outrage because of the way she had just—_man-handled_ him. But, appallingly, a very, very small part of him was…dear God_…turned on_ by her actions. The way she had just pushed him onto the bed…if that had been done under different circumstances…no, wait! This was Granger! And he was _turned on_? By _Granger_? What the _hell_ was wrong with him?

* * *

"What is _wrong_ with you?" asked Hermione in an incredulous voice. "One moment you're almost tolerably well-behaved and then Harry and Ron show up and you call me… that name— _even though you said you wouldn't anymore_—and you act like I haven't spent the last few days bending over backwards to make sure you wouldn't die, barely getting any sleep myself, listening to your insults and your complaints…and then when I finally begin to think that maybe we can get out of this situation without wanting to kill each other, you go and call me…_that_…again. _What is your problem?_" 

Malfoy had just glared at her silently all the time she ranted on, propped up on his elbows on the bed, apparently waiting for her to shut up. His silence and calmness only fueled Hermione's fury and there were angry tears in her eyes when she was done.

He seemed to notice her tears quite suddenly. He sat up and scrutinized her. "Are you—what the hell? You're crying because I called you a mudblood? That's…pathetic—"

_Slap_.

Hermione, hand stinging, eyes blazing, stood staring down at the unbelievably furious, freshly-slapped face of Draco Malfoy. "Well you really wouldn't know how it feels, now would you," she said quietly, hastily wiping the tears from her eyes and taking a step backwards. The look on his face was frightening and her anger quickly dissolved into unease.

And for good reason. Because suddenly, with speed she didn't even think he was capable of in his debilitated state, Malfoy reached out, grabbed her by the front of her robes and yanked her down on the bed beside him. Within moments, in which Hermione was far too shocked to even think about fighting him, he had her pinned beneath him, one knee on each side of her hips, his hands holding her wrists down, his face very close to hers, their chests only inches apart.

"Do _not_ hit me again," he said with an intensity that made Hermione's breath hitch in her throat.

She tried to gather sane thoughts for some kind of response, but it seemed this kind of sensory overload, these feelings of Malfoy on top of her, had overwhelmed and fried every circuit in her brain. What was this heavy, churning feeling in the pit of her stomach? And why, _WHY_, was she suddenly imagining what this would be like if Malfoy had no shirt on?

That image shook her back to reality. Her overactive imagination had taken it _too far_ this time.

One little word surged to the front of her mind, a word she had hated passionately since the first time she heard it. _Mudblood_. It reminded her of just why she was currently trapped under the hot, shaking body of Draco Malfoy.

"Do _not_ call me a mudblood again!" she cried, struggling underneath him. "And get off of me!"

It really didn't take much effort for her to escape. He was so weak. She shuddered to think of how things might have happened differently if he had his full strength.

She freed her wrists from his hands and then shoved him, both hands on his chest, onto his back beside her on the bed. Then she scurried to her feet and ran to the door, looking back at him for one last mutual glare before exiting.

Ron and Harry were waiting outside.

"What the bloody hell was going on in there!" asked a red-faced Ron. It appeared that Harry had been holding him back from barging into the room the entire time.

Hermione was shaking and upset and she really didn't feel like explaining anything right now. But it was Harry and Ron. She had to tell them something.

"Everything's fine," she said in a voice she hoped sounded calm. "We were just having an argument."

Ron was by no means satisfied. He turned on Harry. "How can you let her be in a room alone with him? Are you bloody _insane_!"

"Ron, calm down, please," said Hermione. "You don't understand the situation."

"_I_ don't understand the situation? It's Malfoy!" he continued. "I'm the _only one_ who understands the situation. All the rest of you have gone blind or stupid or—"

"Ron, _really_," interrupted Hermione. She loved Ron…but sometimes she just wanted to choke him. "If you don't calm down I am going to just walk away and not speak to you anymore."

He didn't seem to hear her. "I leave you two alone for a couple of weeks and you lose your minds and decide to invite Malfoy in for a little stay—_where are you going?_"

Hermione was striding angrily down the hallway to her room. She had heard about enough from Ron. He was acting like they _wanted_ Malfoy here. And he was directing all his anger at _her_. But _who was it_ who brought Malfoy here in the first place? Harry! And Harry wasn't even saying anything to defend them!

Ron hurried down the hall after her. "Have you forgotten who Malfoy _is_? How can you help him, how can you—" a look of disgust contorted his face, "—_touch him?_"

She jerked her wand out of her robes, whirled around, and pointed it right at his chest. "That's enough," she said dangerously. "You have absolutely no right to just come in here and judge us. You've been at the Burrow all this time with your family and we've been stuck in this dreadful house and now, on top of everything, we have to take care of Malfoy. And you just waltz in and start treating us like criminals. You're our friend, Ron, you're supposed to be supportive. You think we want Malfoy here? You think we're having fun?"

Ron was silenced. After a moment, Hermione lowered her wand and turned back around and continued walking to her room.

"Wait," said Ron.

Hermione turned back around and looked at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry. I overreacted, I guess."

This kind of admission was extremely unusual coming from Ron. They stared at each other for a few silent moments until Harry stepped up beside Ron and said solemnly, "We have to stick together on this. Otherwise Malfoy will tear us apart."

Harry and Hermione shared a serious glance.

"Like _that_ could happen," said Ron with a crooked grin.

And then the tension left Hermione's body and she realized how good it felt to have her two favorite men standing there right in front of her. The three of them were reunited at last.

She sighed. "No more arguing. For now, anyway. Let's get something to eat."

And the three of them headed down the hallway to the stairs, Ron's face bright with the prospect of food and Harry looking very content to have his two best friends with him.

* * *

Now why had he gone and done _that_? All Draco could think of now was the sight and the feel of having Granger underneath him. He wanted to burn the image from his mind. It was too much. 

But she had slapped him. What was he supposed to do? Just let her get away with it? Hell, no. He was Draco Malfoy. You don't just slap Draco Malfoy and get away with it.

Well…apparently you do sometimes, since Granger escaped with the upper hand in their argument and no bodily harm. But only because Draco was so fucking _weak_. For the millionth time, he wished he had his strength back. Oh, how different that confrontation would have been if he did.

He could just imagine it: They would argue. She would slap him. He would grab her and trap her under his body on the bed. But this time, when she tried to argue and struggle, he would…he would…

The next image that floated to the surface of his mind was something he squashed _immediately_. No, no, no, he would not do _that_.

He suddenly wanted to throw things, to punch something. He wanted to punch _himself_. He was so repulsed and ashamed for having these thoughts towards Granger. But once again, here they were, cropping up when he least expected them.

Where had they even come from? It was like one minute she was a disgusting mudblood and the next she was some sexual object he was lusting after. It was so screwed up, he couldn't even think about it.

He longed to be able to go back to a time when he could just think of her as Hermione Granger, bushy-haired mudblood, know-it-all friend to Harry Potter. Now all he could think about was taking her robes off.

_Get a grip_, he told himself. _This is ridiculous. It's completely insane. _

Despite his swirling thoughts and troubled mind, Draco managed to fall asleep after a few minutes. His dreams were…interesting.

* * *

The three of them were sitting over a heaping plate of sandwiches at the table, each with a cool glass of pumpkin juice. 

"It took me two days to convince mum, but she finally gave in," explained Ron. "When I heard Malfoy was here…well, if she hadn't said yes, I think I would have snuck out anyway."

"Well I'm glad you came," said Harry. His cheeks turned slightly pink as he asked, "How's Ginny?"

Ron gave him a sidelong glance. "Fine. I suppose. Holding up."

A shadow passed over Harry's eyes. There was an awkward silence between the three of them.

Thankfully, Lupin walked in at that moment, a large black book in his hand that Hermione recognized.

"Hello again, Ron," he said with a nod. Apparently they'd already seen each other. "I'm about to get started on that potion, Hermione. It should be done within the hour. Perhaps Draco should eat something before I administer it."

"Then perhaps he should go out into the woods and forage for nuts and berries," said Hermione with a huff.

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "Have a falling out?"

"There was never a falling _in_," said Hermione. She scowled into her pumpkin juice.

Harry and Ron glanced at the suddenly sullen Hermione and then shrugged at Lupin. Her mood swings were beyond male comprehension.

Hermione soon became immersed in her own thoughts. She kept playing that scene over and over again in her mind: Malfoy grabbing her and pulling her onto the bed and pinning her beneath him. It was making her head feel fuzzy. But why? Why such a strong effect?

_I'm just not used to physical contact with the opposite sex,_ she told herself. It was true. She had kissed Victor Krum and she had kissed Ron…but there was no real _bodily_ contact involved with either of them. Certainly nothing involving beds and having someone on top of her. _That_ was an entirely new experience. One which she did not want to repeat with Malfoy anytime soon.

Or did she?

NO! She didn't. Of course not. Gross.

It was _Malfoy,_ for Merlin's sake. He wasn't attractive. It was silly just to think about it. Absolutely ridiculous. What a laugh!

Okay, well…she would be lying to herself if she absolutely denied the possibility that his face might be handsome and his body might be…well-formed. She could look at him objectively. All mental attributes aside, strictly physically…yes, he was attractive. So what? Just the fact that she could admit that, Hermione reasoned, showed that it didn't matter. There were plenty of beautiful people in the world with black souls. Draco Malfoy was one of them.

"Hey. Hermione. Snap out of it," said Ron.

Hermione broke from her thoughts with a start. "What?" she asked.

"You look like you're off in another land. Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, blushing slightly. "I'm just going to, umm, bring some food up for Malfoy."

She gathered some sandwiches on a plate and poured a glass of pumpkin juice while Harry and Ron looked on with concerned expressions. Lupin was busy stirring something in the cauldron over the fire.

"Call me when the potion is ready," she said before making her way over to the stairs.

On the way up, she wondered if Malfoy would still be angry when she got there. After all, he had just finished attacking her the last time she left. She opened the door to bedroom cautiously, preparing herself for some kind of sneak attack—but Malfoy was asleep when she entered. He was curled up facing in her direction, his eyelids fluttering slightly, his lips parted, his breathing heavy. She wondered what he was dreaming about. She set the tray down on the chair and knelt down beside him quietly, knowing she should probably just wake him. But he was interesting to watch in his sleep, when his face was relaxed and there were no angry eyes open to glare at her. A lock of his pale blond hair had fallen over his eyes and she had the sudden inexplicable urge to push it back. His hair looked really soft when it wasn't slicked back. Maybe if she just…did it really lightly, he wouldn't wake up. No. That was ridiculous. She wasn't going to touch his hair. But maybe just once…it wouldn't matter. Her hand, seemingly of its own accord, began to rise slowly to his face. Closer…closer…almost—

His eyes opened lazily and focused on the hand that was currently frozen right in the center of his field of vision. Then they shifted to the stunned face beyond the hand and flickered with some kind of recognition. The expression on his face confused Hermione. It wasn't angry or surprised but rather…calm, like he had quite expected to see Hermione sitting right beside him when he woke up. Before Hermione could lower her hand, Malfoy took it lightly in his. And then he took Hermione by the front of her robes and began pulling her in close, staring into her face.

Hermione's brain was temporarily unavailable at this point.

Malfoy was glancing back and forth between her eyes and her lips, mainly her lips, pulling her closer and closer. A dozen alarms began going off in Hermione's head, screaming at her to GET AWAY NOW because WHAT THE HELL WAS HE DOING! But she couldn't move, she was so shocked.

Their faces came closer and closer and Malfoy was staring only at her lips now and Hermione was just about to scream and run away—when Malfoy blinked…and blinked again…and knitted his brow…and abruptly let go of Hermione and practically jumped out of his skin trying to get away from her.

Hermione thought she would faint, she was so relieved.

"What are you doing!" exclaimed a severely confused Malfoy.

It took a second for Hermione to find her voice. "What am _I_ doing? Just—trying not to be sexually assaulted, that's all!"

He was breathing heavily, looking at her wildly. "Get out!" he shouted after a moment, eviction apparently the best solution he could think of.

Hermione did not wait to be told twice. She wanted out of there as much as he wanted her gone. She was off the floor and out the door within two seconds. Then she ran to her own room and vaulted onto the bed and tried to make sense of what is God's name had just happened.

* * *

A/N: You like? Tell me your thoughts. Review, my loyal band of reviewers! Some of you may have loved this chapter, some of you may not have. I don't know, you'll have to tell me. And please don't hesitate, even if you didn't like it. Thanks! Review! (Oh and if you'll notice, I used mum, not mom. I'm getting better, haha…) 


	9. Flying Sandwiches and Runaway Feelings

A/N: SURPRISE! Two new chapters in just7 days! As you can see, all is well in the land of The Slow Heal. Whew, I can't believe I have so many reviews. You guys are amazing. Thank you for continuing to read this and I hope I'm making it entertaining for you. For the first time ever, I am responding to some reviews. I probably should have done this from the beginning…but I didn't. Anyway…skip this part if you don't care

SalemWitch: Well, I emailed you asking for specifics, but I guess you either didn't get it or didn't bother responding to it, though I'm hoping it's the former of the two. That was kind of disappointing. Anyway…sorry you think the story has gone astray. Thanks for reviewing, I hope you like this chapter. But if not...it's alright.

GooseyCorsair: Welcome! You told me to "enjoy writing" and that really struck me because I think you're the first person to say something like that. That's awesome, thanks. (And believe me, I DO enjoy writing this fic.)

Luna: No, this story is not outlined. Does that scare you? Hehe…don't worry, I'm not abandoning you guys. Plus, it's all in my head. crazy eyes

Samiha: Don't worry, Ron won't be evil. He's just good ol' Ron.

Bizbeth: I know, waiting for that first kiss is torture. Don't worry…it'll happen and it'll be awesome. Just be patient my dear. (THAT GOES FOR ALL OF YOU!)

i-LuV-cHaRmEd18: When am I going to start on the actual romance part? Whenever the characters have progressed to a mental stage where they are READY to start a romance with each other. Don't worry, the second it is plausible, it will happen. Right now…they've got the attraction going on, but they still have far too much pride to admit it or act on it. (plus…they kind of hate each other, don't forget. They don't want to be attracted to each other.)

Whycantibreathe: lol, take a deep breath and calm down. I didn't realize that was such a big cliffhanger.

BlackEyedBella: I too would give my right arm to be Hermione in that situation…HEY…why don't I just write myself into the story! sigh I'm such a dork….anyway, thanks for reviewing! You've done every chapter, I appreciate that so much!

English person: I will try very hard not to Americanize this fic. I imagine it WOULD be annoying to you guys. There will be no American exchange students (since they're not even at Hogwarts anyway) and probably no American people at all, really. What do you mean by "truth or dare (rubbish)"? I don't know what that's referring to.

TheWitchQueen: haha, I don't think you have to worry about that. One thing I will NOT do is make Draco say stupid, mushy, romantic crap. We're definitely on the same page on this issue…

Bonnie Charlie: (I'm just calling you Charlie from now on) You always call me lass! That's so cute. I'm glad you're getting enjoyment from their struggles. Cause the characters sure aren't…

Keir-keir: Don't fret! I can't _stand_ love triangles.

Laila: Ah, so I've pulled you back to the Draco/Hermione side….that's awesome! I'm so glad you like it.  
Also, someone asked how many chapters there are going to be, but I couldn't find that review again for some reason so I don't know who asked it….anyway, the answer is, I don't know. Great answer, huh?

And THANK YOU to everyone else who reviewed, you make writing this story worthwhile.

Now go count how many times I said "Don't worry"! haha, I love reading these reviews. Often times they are frantic, imploring me to PLEASE don't do this or that and ordering me to UPDATE NOW. lol…so, a recap: No evil Ron, no mushy Draco, no love triangle, no Americans, and NO I'm not going to abandon you. I hope that quells your fears? If so…

Onward to chapter 9!

Chapter 9: Flying Sandwiches and Runaway Feelings

Disclaimer: That old chestnut.

* * *

_What…just…happened! _Draco thought frantically. 

He thought he had been dreaming when he was pulling Granger towards him! But he wasn't! Dear God!

This was the _second time_ in two days he had mistaken reality for a dream. And both instances had led to really awkward situations between Granger and himself. The first time, he had revealed to her the horror he felt over the death of his parents. And this time, he had revealed his growing feelings of…_desire?_…for her. Thank _GOD_ he had realized what he was doing before he actually kissed her. Because he knew, without a doubt, that that's where he had been going.

What would she be thinking now? Oh, _man_. He needed serious damage control. How was he going to play this off? He certainly wasn't going to tell her, "Oh yeah, by the way, even though I've hated your guts since the moment I met you six years ago, since about…yesterday, out of nowhere, I've been having sexual thoughts about you. That's probably why I nearly molested you just now in my half-asleep state. Okay, bye!"

Damn it! What was he going to do?

Well, for the moment, all he really _could_ do was play that moment over and over again in his mind. It wasn't so much the _sights_ he was replaying, but the feelings. He'd had this strange sensation of warmth and closeness when Granger was held so near to him and their lips were just a breath apart. It was almost unbearable to think about because it had felt so…_good_.

And that dream! The one he'd been having right before Granger showed up…

No _wonder _he had tried to kiss her when he woke up. He couldn't help but think that if Granger could somehow see that dream…well, it would shock her right down to her toes.

Hell, it had shocked _him_. Small flashes of it kept popping up in his mind…hot skin pressed against hot skin, arms entangled, bodies writhing—

STOP!

He had to stop this! It was getting completely out of control. Over the past twenty minutes, not ONE thought related to anything but Granger had entered his mind. She was slowly wriggling her way into his brain, burrowing down so deep that Draco was helpless to stop thinking about her.

But he didn't _want_ to think about her! He didn't want these feelings! They shamed him, they _humiliated_ him.

Draco's heart nearly stopped when he heard a sound at the door.

_Shit! She's back_, he thought immediately.

But it wasn't the sound of knocking, or of the doorknob being twisted. It was…what… scratching? Was something scratching at the door? What the hell…

Draco waited for it to stop, but the scratching continued, on and on. He pulled himself off the bed and walked, very cautiously (and somewhat painfully), to the door. After listening for a moment more, he opened it swiftly, having no idea what he would find outside.

And as the lighting bolt of fur darted into the room, he realized what it was and instantly regretted opening the door.

Crookshanks.

* * *

Hermione was lying flat on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, wishing a runaway train or a stampede of horses would crash through her wall and crush her to death. It seemed like a much nicer course of events than oh, say, ever having to see Malfoy again. She couldn't even imagine what it would be like next time she was in a room with him. Would it be awkward? Would he be embarrassed? Or angry? Confused? Did he even know what he had almost done? 

Well, _Hermione_ certainly knew what he had almost done. He had almost _kissed_ her.

And once again, at that thought, her brain burst into flames. (Or at least that's what it felt like.) It was just…incomprehensible. Mind-boggling. Insane!

And thiswas why she was questioning if he'd even known what he was doing. Her mind flashed back to that moment when he blinked and his face changed and he jerked away from her and started yelling.

Hmm. It seemed he hadn't known what he was doing _while_ he was doing it…but afterwards…

Had he gathered enough sensory data (i.e., the sight of Hermione's lips only centimeters from his and the feel of his own hands pulling her closer) in that moment of sudden lucidity to figure out what he was doing?

Hermione once again pictured the aftermath.

Was his reaction of hot anger and wild confusion congruous to the situation of finding himself about to kiss a _mudblood_?

And then another popular question cropped up again: What did all this _mean_?

Was it just a single moment of delirium on Malfoy's part? Had he really just not known what was going on? Had he, perhaps, in his freshly-awoken state, mistaken Hermione for someone else?

_Maybe_, thought Hermione. But there was one little thing that made her think otherwise: that tiny flash of recognition in his eyes. It was small, _very_ small, and perhaps wholly insignificant, but it was unmistakable. She had the unshakable feeling that he'd known it was her, Hermione Granger, mudblood extraordinaire, even as he'd been pulling her closer and closer.

It was, of course, a crazy thought. He would never kiss her. You see, there are these things called _feelings_ that you have to have for someone in order to want to kiss them. And Hermione knew Malfoy didn't have them for her. Because if he did…well, it would probably fall under the category of "Signs of the Apocalypse". It was just inconceivable.

Hermione groaned. This was all way too confusing. She wished she had someone there to comfort her. She glanced at Crookshanks' empty basket. Now, where was he when she needed him?

She soon had her answer as she heard muffled yelling coming from down the hall.

* * *

The stupid cat had jumped up on the bed and now Draco was left standing by the door, swaying slightly, his face red with anger. 

"Damn it, cat! _Leave!_" he shouted.

Crookshanks just hunkered down in the sheets further and swished his tail mischievously, purring like a lunatic.

"Get _out_!" yelled Draco. He was not going to put up with this cat's bullshit anymore. He knew if he didn't sit down soon, his legs were going to go out again. He needed his bed back, _and now_.

He wished he had his wand. He really, really did. But seeing as that wish was not going to come true anytime soon, he looked around for objects to throw. He was not going anywhere _near_ the cat this time.

The only loose objects immediately at hand were the sandwiches on the chair and an empty bowl lying on the floor. The sandwiches were closer. Draco stumbled over to the chair, grabbed a sandwich—and chucked it at the cat. Crookshanks jumped back and hissed, but stayed on the bed.

"Damn you!" shouted Draco. Then the cat began sniffing interestedly at the sandwich. Draco had another idea. He picked up another sandwich from the tray, thinking to throw it out into the hallway for the cat to follow and possibly eat. He reared his arm back and threw it—but, unfortunately, the sandwich didn't make it into the hallway.

It hit Hermione Granger right in the face. Draco's stomach nearly jumped out of his mouth when he saw her standing there. She was growing redder and more livid by the second and she had a bit of lettuce stuck in her hair. Part of Draco wanted to laugh. Actually, a _very_ _big_ part of him wanted to laugh. Oh, wait. He _was_ laughing.

That was probably the funniest damn thing he'd ever seen in his life. He hit Granger in the face with a sandwich! And he hadn't even meant to! And now she had lettuce in her hair!

She looked too angry to speak or even move. Draco was laughing too hard to speak or even move. Suffice it to say, there was no speaking or moving for several seconds.

Then Granger regained control of her tongue and spat, "_You!_ _You_…_hit me in the face!_" The tone of her voice was bordering on hysteria.

She picked up the sandwich from the floor and threw it back at him. It flew past his head and hit the wall. That made Draco laugh even harder. She missed! She took several angry strides in his direction, her hands balled up in little fists at her sides, looking like she wanted to punch him in the face. Soon she was standing directly in front of him, trying to yank her wand out of her robes while still keeping her eyes locked on his.

As if he was just going to stand there and let her hex him! He grabbed her by the wrists (eyes still glinting with laughter) and used all the strength he had to keep her from reaching for her wand. It wasn't easy.

"Let me go!" she shrieked at him, struggling with all her might, trying to back away. He didn't let go. It would have been so easy to overpower her had he had his full strength, but this was a challenge. As she backed away, he had to follow, and his legs were wobbly at best.

But soon, luckily for Draco, she had herself backed against the wall. Her eyes widened as she felt it behind her back. She must have felt trapped, and indeed she was. Draco brought her wrists up above her head and pinned them to the wall. Her eyes were round and furious and her breathing was heavy. Draco could feel how fast her pulse was racing under the pale skin of her wrists. She was so close. If he just stepped forward just a little bit, their bodies would be—

And all of a sudden, that image popped up in his mind again. That one from the dream. That one where he and Granger were positioned very much like they were now, only they were horizontal, and on a bed, and not wearing any clothes.

The image sent a shockwave through every fiber of Draco's being. All the laughter drained from his eyes. He stepped back abruptly and dropped her wrists.

For a moment he couldn't even speak. But then, with a surprising amount of control, he said, "Take your cat and leave."

His tone left no room for argument. But, of course, this was Hermione Granger. With her, there was _always_ room for argument.

She was still furious. "You have no right to just—handle me like this!" she shouted, probably referring also to the earlier incident, when he had pinned her to the bed.

"I have the right to do whatever I want with you," he said.

Silence.

Granger's eyes went very wide at that.

The phrase bounced heavily around the room with an unintended sexual connotation that was not lost on either of the two teens. No doubt both of their minds jumped to the same subject: the kiss that had almost occurred not half an hour earlier.

Suddenly Lupin appeared in the doorway, oblivious to the conversation he had just missed. "Have you eaten yet, Draco?" he asked. Then he spied the sandwich lying on the floor across the room and another being eaten by Crookshanks on the bed and the other ones lying abandoned on the tray…and then the piece of lettuce in Granger's hair.

"Did we…have a food fight?" he asked, an extremely rare twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

Granger cleared her throat. "Crookshanks just got a little bit…out of control," she said in a small voice. She walked over to the bed and grabbed the cat around its middle and hauled it into her arms. Then she walked out the door, not even sparing Draco a glance.

"It's highly advisable that you eat before taking the potion again," said Lupin as Draco collapsed onto the bed, not even caring if the older man saw his weakness.

"Dually noted," said Draco flatly.

"I'll have Hermione bring it up to you in a few minutes," said Lupin, turning to walk out the door. He paused for a moment, looking back at Draco. "And Draco…do try not to exert yourself so much. Your body needs time to heal."

Draco only raised his eyebrows as if to say, _with Granger around, how can I NOT exert myself. It saps my energy just listening to her._

Lupin raised his eyebrows in return with a message that was unclear and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Draco covered his face with his hands and let out a stifled groan, thinking about what just happened with Granger. Why had he said that?

_I have the right to do whatever I want with you_.

He was making advances on her without even meaning to. He had seen the look in her eyes; she had been thinking along the exact same lines as he was. He only wished he could have seen what went on inside her head afterwards. Was she even half as confused as he was?

* * *

_I have the right to do whatever I want with you_. 

Hermione kept hearing that sentence in her mind over and over again, each time her stomach giving a little jolt. How could Malfoy affect her so strongly with such apparent ease?

And which god should she thank for sending in Professor Lupin at just the right time? If he hadn't popped in…well, Hermione didn't know what would have happened. It would definitely have gotten very awkward, very quickly. That much she knew.

And thanks to Crookshanks, the subject of THE-ALMOST-KISS had been completely bypassed due to Malfoy's fresh anger. Hermione was currently showing her gratitude by stroking Crookshanks' back.

"You have impeccable timing," she told the purring cat. "What would I do without you and Professor Lupin? Not that Harry and Ron are helping any…I wonder what they're up to now…"

She hadn't been able to spend much time with the two of them yet. Giving Crookshanks one final pat on the head, Hermione stood up and walked to the door. She poked her head out first and glanced down the hallway, making sure Malfoy's door wasn't open. She really didn't want to see him right now. Or ever again, really.

Then she walked down the hallway quietly and descended the stairs. As she made her way down the portrait-lined hallway towards the basement stairs, she began to hear quite a ruckus coming from the kitchen below.

Hermione descended the second flight of stairs more quickly, wondering what was going on. She heard the sound of a chair being knocked over and Tonks yelling, "Go Harry!"

Then the sight of Ron and Harry came into view, their wands drawn, their faces flushed, their mouths lit up with big goofy grins. They were dueling. And Tonks, apparently, sitting off to the side, was acting as their audience. Lupin had his back turned to the whole affair and was diligently stirring the contents of the cauldron over the fire.

"Take that!" yelled Ron, sending some silent curse towards Harry's gut. Harry dived out of the way and knocked over another chair.

"Ooh, close, Ron!" exclaimed Tonks. "But, err…the point of a silent spell is to, well, not let your opponent know that you're doing one. So when you yell, 'Take that,' it kind of defeats the pur—"

"Stupefy!" shouted Harry, sending a jet of red light towards Ron. Ron ducked and the spell hit the wall behind him.

Hermione was grinning, still standing on the stairs. She loved these two boys, her two best friends. And she loved brightly enthusiastic Tonks and quiet, uninterested Lupin. Life wasn't so bad in this house when these people were around.

Ron noticed her quite suddenly and gave her a lopsided grin. "Hermione!"

Harry looked up at her too. He said conversationally, "Hey, Hermione, I was just telling Ron…EXPELLIARMUS!"

Ron's wand flew out of his hand. His face fell. "That was low, Harry!"

Harry only laughed. "Harry…one, Ron…zero."

Ron's attention quickly shifted to more important matters, though. "What's that you've got in your hair?" he asked, walking towards Hermione. "Is that…lettuce?" he asked, plucking it out.

"Probably," Hermione muttered, remembering very clearly the sight of a sandwich flying towards her head.

"Well, that's…interesting…" said Ron, flicking it off of his finger.

"Let's go again," said Harry. "This time, silent spells only. I need more practice with them."

"You're right you do," said Ron, his attention immediately drawn back to dueling.

"When I say go!" said Tonks, and Harry and Ron took their stances.

"Hermione, could you come over here?" asked Lupin from the fireplace.

"GO!" yelled Tonks.

Hermione made her way over to Lupin, carefully avoiding both of the wand-happy boys.

"Yes?" she asked.

"This is done," said Lupin, his eyes still on the churning, bubbling liquid in the cauldron. He began ladling it into a goblet. "Take this to Draco. The dosage is _exact_. Make sure he drinks it all."

Hermione nodded and took the warm goblet in her hands, the white fog spilling over the sides onto the floor. She began walking carefully back towards the stairs. Harry nearly ran into her in his haste to get out of the way of whatever spell Ron had just aimed at him.

"Cease fire!" yelled Hermione. She wanted to take no chances with this potion. But Ron and Harry were far too absorbed in their game to even hear her, so she sped up her pace and got up the stairs as quickly as she could.

And then the nervousness gripped her stomach with the thought of, _What's going to happen this time?_

Because lately, Malfoy's room had become a place of unwanted feelings and strange urges. Like when he had her pinned against the wall; she had been spitting mad, but at the same time, she'd had the most sudden and potent urge to feel his body pressed against hers. Just one more step and she would have felt his closeness and warmth. The _really_ strange part? She had been silently urging him to take that step. And she had gotten that weird churning feeling in her stomach again, just like before, when he was on top of her on the bed.

These were the real reasons she had gotten so angry. Malfoy made her feel things she did _not_ want to feel, feelings that were just completely wrong.

As Hermione turned the doorknob to his room, she found herself once again wishing for a deadly stampede of horses.

* * *

Draco had just completed the task of eating. It certainly wasn't easy. He could barely get anything down. His throat felt like it was the size of his pinky finger. Or better yet, the size of Granger's pinky finger. She had really small fingers. Delicate fingers. 

_WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME!_ he raged at himself inwardly, falling back on the bed and clapping a hand over his eyes. _Small, delicate fingers? What the fuck!_

The doorknob turned and Draco sat up again. Enter said fingers, along with the rest of Hermione Granger. She was carrying a goblet filled with a potion that Draco recognized immediately by its smell and characteristic white fog. He was none too happy to see it, just like he was none too happy to see Granger. But then, she didn't look too pleased to see him either.

"Did you eat?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Good." She held out the potion to him. He didn't move. "Take it," she said.

Slowly, his eyes locking onto hers, he reached up and took the potion from her hands. His fingers brushed hers in the process. He saw her glance down at their touching fingers and then clench her jaw. He smirked inwardly. At least he was having _some_ sort of effect on her.

Outwardly, his face was as serious as the grave. He didn't immediately drink the potion. Instead, he kept staring at Granger.

"Drink it," she said, her voice challenging him. "Professor Lupin said all of it. Every last drop." And then as an afterthought, "If you can _handle it_."

He honestly didn't know if he could. The last time had been pure hell, like flames licking at his throat, burning their way down to his stomach. But he certainly couldn't let Granger know that. He could put up a front for her. He _had to_. In his mind, there was no choicebut to accepther challenge and win.

So he smirked at her, raised the goblet to his lips, tipped his head back and downed the hellish substance in three enormous gulps.

The pain was unbearable. It was so much worse than he remembered. The liquid fire trickled down his throat, into his chest, down to his stomach, slowly, agonizingly sending fine, sharp bolts of pain throughout his entire body. If he had looked down and seen his clothing on fire, he would not have been a bit surprised. The pain was everywhere. Merlin, he could feel it in his _toes_. Black and white spots began dancing before his eyes. He felt light-headed, dizzy.

And from the corner of his vision, he saw Granger standing there with her hands held over her mouth. Why was she doing that? Had something gone wrong? Shit!

Wait…no…her shoulders were shaking. Was she…was she _giggling?_ Was she _laughing_ at him? Could it possibly be? Did she have the gall—SHE _WAS_ GIGGLING! THAT _BITCH!_

The fury that flowed swiftly and immediately through Draco's body cancelled out any pain he might have been feeling.

He jumped up faster than any person in his condition had a right to, grabbed Granger roughly by her shoulders, and shoved her backwards against the wall. He was _furious. _He wanted to slam her delicate body into the wall again, he wanted to punch her, he wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and _choke_ her.

But more than anything—he suddenly wanted to kiss her. He wanted to crush those giggling rosy lips with his own and forcefully invade her mouth. He wanted her to taste just a fraction of the pain he was feeling.

He ran his hands roughly over her shoulders, all the way down her arms and grasped her hands in his, yanking them up above her head and pressing them to the wall. This scene was _so_ familiar. But this time—he left no space between their bodies. She gasped and her eyes popped open wide as he pressed himself onto her.

He thought about kissing her. _God_, he thought about it. He thought about it until their mouths were so together that he could feel her panicked breaths tickling his lips. And he could have kissed her. Because strangely, she didn't move her head away. She could have twisted to the left or the right, but she didn't. If she was set on avoiding his kiss, that's what she would have done. But she didn't. She kept her face turned squarely towards his.

And that's why he didn't kiss her. Because she wanted it. He knew it. He could feel it. She was staring at his lips, just waiting for it to happen. And that scared him. It literally scared Draco Malfoy.

With an inward groan, he stepped away from her and said in a choked voice, "Get out now, before I—just get out."

She stared at him with eyes as large as dinner plates for a few deafeningly silent moments before literally running out the door. For once, apparently, she had nothing to say.

With a shuddering breath, Draco collapsed onto the bed, suddenly rememberinghow much pain he was in.

* * *

A/N: Now, I know what you're thinking, my duckies. "THEY SHOULD HAVE KISSED, HOW DARE YOU, YOU BITCH, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU JUST CUT IT OFF LIKE THAT, WHY DIDN'T THEY KISS!" Now, now…calm down. It's not time for that yet. Believe me. We've got SO many more feelingsto build up before that happens! Hehe, please don't hate me. Because I love you all so much and it would break my heart if you hated me. 

Enough from me, the evil writer…go review, my lovely reviewers! You know the type of things I want to know…so go tell me! If you have any fears related to me screwing up the story, make them known. I will try to quell them. Or if you have any fears whatsoever…the dark…ghosts…clowns…three-legged cats…go ahead and tell me those too, I will try to comfort you. Also, if you want to tell me that I already HAVE screwed up the story, go ahead. OR if you just want to tell me how cool I am, that's allowed also! Actually, yeah, do that anyway. Okay review! See you in chapter 10!


	10. After the Storm: Sidestep and Overlook

A/N: Hello. Again. Psyco Faerie informed me that I'm not allowed to write personal responses to reviews anymore. Is this true? I mean, I don't think you were lying, but I mean…everyone else is still doing it, and I can't find an official rule anywhere… Until this is clarified for me, I'm just gonna keep on responding, because it's fun, and I am quite the little rebel. Though I do hope very much that I don't get in any trouble. The responses are at the end of the chapter, if you want to read them. Thanks for looking out for me, Psyco Faerie: )

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters…but I do own a spiffy pair of rainbow suspenders. Wait…no I don't. : ( Why do I get up in the morning?

* * *

_He did it again. I can't believe it. He almost kissed me. Again. HE DID IT AGAIN!_

Such were the thoughts of Hermione Granger as she lay curled up on her bed, her arms clutching her knees tightly to her chest and her face buried in her pillow. She was shaking all over and did not yet have her breathing under control.

The feeling of Draco Malfoy's body pressed up against hers was still very fresh in her mind, almost as if he were still there in front of her.

If she focused, she thought she could still feel his strong hands pinning her wrists to the wall, the heat of his body as it flowed into hers, the quick and uneven rise and fall of his chest as it pressed against hers.

Sometimes you can think you know what something feels like—and then actually feel it for the first time and realize how completely and utterly wrong you were. When Hermione had been in that same position before, right after she had slapped him, when she had been mentally urging him to take that one step closer, she'd thought she knew what it would feel like.

But she'd had no idea. No idea _whatsoever_ how much difference one little step could make. The closeness, the pressure, the _heat_. It was nearly intoxicating.

And having his lips so close she could almost taste them… That was a feeling she'd _never_ experienced before, that desperate feeling of being so close to kissing someone and wanting it _so_ badly, and then being deprived.

And what's more, she knew her reactions to him were completely wrong. Based on everything she had learned since the very first time she went to Hogwarts, Hermione knew she certainly wasn't supposed to want to _kiss_ Draco Malfoy, let alone be in the same room with him. He was…well, he was just _Malfoy_. He was supposed to be a disgusting, foul, loathsome piece of scum. How could she possibly want to kiss _that_?

And what's _even _more: she never had urges like these! Never before had she put so much importance on being able to kiss someone. She was…she was_ Hermione Granger_, forGod's sake!She was a bookworm! She didn't want to kiss boys! She wanted to read books! Right!

Wrong! She wanted to snog Malfoy! But _why?_ Why him? Why was it that Malfoy, the horrible, hateful Slytherin, was the only boy so far to inspire these feelings inside of Hermione? And after only three days! THREE DAYS since Harry had brought him to Grimmauld Place! How could such an enormous change take place in such a short period of time? It was just…crazy! Really, truly _insane._

The whole thing made her want to scream.

It was like there were two Hermione's now: the one who desperately wanted physical contact with Malfoy and the one who desperately wanted to just continue hating him. It was really a _horrible_ combination of forces in one body.

But also, when she thought about it more, there was another very distinguishable part of her: that curious kitten right at the core of her being who wanted so badly to learn more about Malfoy. The feeling had come on slowly over the past few days, starting when she had received the shocking knowledge of Malfoy renouncing Voldemort. Then, when he had revealed to her the way his parents were murdered and how anguished he felt over it, the feeling had strengthened substantially. And now, with these two occurrences of almost being kissed by him and feeling so suddenly drawn to him…well, the curiosity just _exploded_ inside of Hermione. Her brain automatically thought up a list of questions she wanted answers to.

Why is he such a cruel person? Did something happen in his childhood to make him that way? Or is he just copying his father? Why does he hate muggle-borns so much? Why did he join the Death Eaters? Why did he agree to murder Dumbledore? And why didn't he go through with it in the end? Was he just a coward—or did he have some sense of moral obligation? Why did Voldemort kill his parents? And why didn't Voldemort kill him too? Why did he renounce Voldemort? Why did Snape take away his Dark Mark and try to kill him?

And more importantly, Why has he tried to kiss me three times now? Is he feeling the same sort of strange attraction that I am? Does it scare him the way it scares me? Can I possibly ask him any of these questions without him yelling at me to leave him alone? And do I even want to know the answers?

The answer to that: oh, yes, she DID want to know the answers. The questions were forming a blazing hole in her pocket. She just had to find some way to draw him into a conversation—a laughable thought. Having a conversation with Draco Malfoy…was it even possible? She'd have to find out soon if she wanted to calm her swirling mind.

Right now, though, she was dead tired. As she lay there curled up in the covers, her eyes began to grow heavy and her limbs started to relax and she felt like she was sinking right down into the softness of her own familiar bed. Sleep seemed like a very good approach to getting Malfoy off of her mind, so she gave herself over to the feeling and let her troubled thoughts drift slowly into dreams.

How wrong she was, though. Even in sleep her mind was filled with Draco Malfoy. She couldn't escape him. The most disturbing of her dreams played out like this:

_She was sitting on the window bench in her room at home, staring at the orange sun as it sank lower and lower below the horizon. She was wearing her school robes and had a crisp copy of "Hogwarts: A History" placed lovingly in her lap. As she stared out the window, a tiny black blur appeared in the orange sky far off in the distance. As she watched it, the blur became a speck. The speck got bigger. It was a big speck. It was a dot. The dot was advancing and then…she could hear the flap of wings. Then the hoot of an owl._

_The owl reached her windowsill and pecked at the glass in annoyance. Hermione quickly unlocked the latch and let the small brown owl swoop inside to land on her bed. It dropped a letter onto the flowered bedspread, stretched its wings, and then took off into the air again, straight out the window and into the sunset. Hermione walked to the bed and picked up the letter. It had the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on the back. She tore it open quickly and opened the folded parchment hastily. It said…it said…SHE WAS HEAD GIRL! Hermione Granger was head girl!_

_Suddenly she wasn't in her room anymore. She was in…some sort of bedroom with stone floors and stone walls and two elegant four-poster beds, one decorated in green and silver, the other in gold and red. That was strange. Where was she?_

_Suddenly there was a cold draft and the creak of a door opening. She turned and saw—Draco Malfoy. Wearing nothing but a towel._

_"I see you got your letter," he said huskily. "I got mine too. We're head boy and head girl. Improbable, I know, but isn't that…sexy? Now we'll be sharing a bedroom. Get ready for some awkwardly sexual moments in which I will come on to you and you will try to resist me. Then we'll make some sort of bet. And baby…I'm so gonna win. But in the end, I'll love you for who you really are and we'll transition onto a first-name basis and probably have some kids. I am such a bad boy. Now witness my manhood!"_

Just as this dream-Malfoy was about to whip off his towel and reveal his "manhood" to her, Hermione woke up gasping and sputtering and looking around wildly to make sure he was nowhere in sight.

THAT was the weirdest and most disturbing dream she'd ever had in her entire life. She sat up and clutched her arms tightly around herself. She suddenly felt cold, though it was a warm summer night.

She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall—it was nearly five a.m. She wondered if anyone else would be up. Regardless, she didn't want to be in this room any longer. The walls seemed to be smirking at her, as if they had seen her dreams and were quite amused with her predicament.

Hermione slid down from the bed and rubbed her eyes. She tried to think back to the last time she had showered; it had been at least a day. She grabbed her bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door and stepped into the hallway. All was quiet. She crossed the hallway and entered the bathroom. As she flipped on the light switch, she caught a surprising glimpse of herself in the mirror and did a double-take.

The girl staring back at her was deathly pale and had dark circles under her eyes. Her robes were wrinkled and her hair was in tangles. Hermione just stared at herself, wide-eyed, for a few minutes. Was she really this worn out? Merlin. She looked like she had just come home from a battle or something.

Not too far from the truth, she thought, and the image of Malfoy's face rose to the surface of her mind. Every moment with him was a small battle.

Hermione tore her eyes away from the distressing state of her appearance, undressed quickly and stepped into the shower. Soon she was engulfed in a lavender-scented cloud of water and steam. She wished she could somehow just lose herself in it and let her mind go blank. She just wanted to be free of thoughts, just for a little while. Anything to clear her head of Malfoy. He was always there…always with his haunted stare and the hoarse whisper, "They made me watch!" The memory of that moment still gave her chills.

And just as often, she had the remembered feeling of their bodies pressed so tightly together, their lips so close…so very close…

She wanted to cry, or laugh, or maybe hit something. It was all just too much. She felt like her mind was one big, swirling tornado. Maybe she was going crazy.

Crazy with renewed hatred, crazy with burning curiosity, crazy with…

Hermione sighed loudly. Lust? Was that what it was? Seriously? Lust? Hermione Granger? LUST? This was one of the funny parts of the whole situation: Hermione Granger actually considering the possibility that she might hold lust, a word she had probably never said out loud before, for one Draco Malfoy. She might have laughed had the disturbing thought not rang with such truth.

When she felt thoroughly revived (physically, at least), Hermione turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

Not lust, she thought forcefully. I don't even know what lust is. So I've thought about kissing him! That's not lust. That's pathetic girlishness. Nothing more. I'll get over it soon enough. In fact…I need to just get over it right now. It's mad, the whole deal. It's just…it's nothing. That's what it is. It's absolutely nothing. This whole thing. It's just silliness. And I'm going to treat it that way from now on.

She resolved right then and there, that from now on, she would evict from her mind any thoughts regarding Malfoy that did not directly involve his health. She wasn't going to start acting like some idiotic, flustered, pre-teen girl just because he got a little bit close to her. Her interest in Malfoy from this moment forward would be strictly professional. Her thoughts would be strictly appropriate. She would just pretend that their last disturbing near-kiss didn't happen. She could do it. She knew she could. And she would.

After returning to her room, Hermione glanced at the clock again. She should be able to use healing charms on Malfoy in about…two more hours. She wondered if he was awake.

As his nurse, I should definitely check, she reasoned.

After dressing in fresh black robes and making a half-hearted attempt at finger-combing the tangles from her hair, Hermione left her room and walked slowly over to Malfoy's. Once there, she held her ear up to the door. She heard nothing. She turned the doorknob slowly and opened the door quietly.

She could see his sleeping form from the narrow opening in the doorway. His eyelids were fluttering and his chest was rising and falling steadily. He looked fine. Still alive, anyway. That was a good sign.

Hermione thought for a moment about going inside—but then decided against it in light of what happened last time she disturbed him in his sleep. It had resulted in their first near-kiss. She didn't think she could handle any more repeats of that. She closed the door silently.

She stood there for a few seconds, staring blankly at the door, trying to decide what she was going to do next. Then her stomach growled loudly and she realized how hungry she was. It had been quite a while since her last meal.

Sandwiches, she thought bitterly.

She made her way slowly down to the kitchen, trying to be silent in case anyone was sleeping. A fire was burning dully in the grate when she got there, providing only dim lighting. Everything else was silent and still. She didn't think it right to wake Dobby up so early to make her breakfast, so Hermione pulled out her wand and set out to make her own meal.

She got as far as opening the cupboards before a resounding crack echoed through the kitchen and Dobby the house elf was standing before her, his eyes shining with excitement. Hermione jumped at the loud noise and let out a gasp. She clapped a hand to her heart when she realized it was only him.

"Dobby! You startled me," she said.

He was already at work rifling through the cupboards, setting out bowls and utensils and ingredients.

"Dobby will make breakfast!" he cried happily, cracking two eggs into a bowl. Soon a whisk, suspended in the air by magic, began beating the eggs by itself.

"Oh, you really didn't have to—" Hermione began. She stopped when she realized the house elf wasn't listening, so absorbed was he in the wondrous process of toasting bread. Hermione smiled weakly as she took a seat at the table. If he was happy…she was happy.

Within two minutes, a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, fried bacon, and buttered toast sat before her. It was like—wait…it was magic.

"Thank you, Dobby," said Hermione, and the house elf, his face beaming, disapparated.

Hermione dug in. Dobby's cooking was excellent and she was starving. But she found that as she ate, she couldn't keep her mind from drifting off to…other things…things that she had sworn to evict from her thoughts…things such as, "the incident," as she had begun calling it.

"The incident" was a much better name for what'd happened between her and Malfoy that oh, say, "that one incredibly passion-filled moment when our bodies were pressed together and our lips were just a breath apart and I realized how much I actually wanted him to kiss me." Yeah, she was definitely sticking with "the incident."

But one thing she did not want to allow herself to do was to think about it. At all. So she focused instead on the first thing she happened to glance at…her bacon.

Bacon…it's a pork product. It comes from pigs. I like bacon. Harry and Ron do also. It's a good food. I wonder if Malfoy is awake yet—I mean…I wonder if bacon is…uh…high in…sodium. Probably. Malfoy…I mean toast! Toast is good too. I like Malfoy—TOAST! I LIKE TOAST!

Luckily, before Hermione could lapse into a mental breakdown, Lupin and Tonks walked down the stairs together, their hands linked.

"'Morning, Hermione," said Tonks brightly.

"Good morning," said Lupin.

"'Morning," said Hermione weakly. She felt like her mind had just run a marathon trying to block out thoughts of Malfoy.

"You're up quite early," said Tonks, plopping herself into a seat at the table.

"Yes, well…my schedule's been all off ever since Malfoy got here," said Hermione.

"I checked on him around midnight," said Lupin, taking a seat beside Tonks. "He was sleeping. What's his condition now?"

"Still sleeping," said Hermione. "If he's not up by 8, I'm going to wake him up so I can heal his wound."

Dobby suddenly appeared again with his characteristic crack and went to work immediately on two more breakfasts.

"How do you intend to do that?" asked Lupin.

"With a charm, the same one I've been using," said Hermione, taking a bite of toast.

"Hmm…" said Lupin. "I was thinking more along the lines of a potion. One that will both heal his wound and give him some of his strength back.

A sudden image flashed through Hermione's head: Malfoy on top of her, pinning her to bed. She shivered slightly at the thought of him having any more strength than he already did.

She forced the image away and cleared her throat. "What potion is this?" she asked in a voice that was a little bit higher than normal.

"Nothing extraordinary," said Lupin with a half shrug. "I know Madam Pomfrey uses it occasionally with her patients… The ingredients are quite simple, but the calculations are extremely precise. There's much room for error; it takes a lot of concentration."

Hermione suddenly smelled a challenge. And it smelled delicious.

"I want to make it," she said abruptly, all thoughts of Malfoy gone for the moment.

Lupin raised his eyebrows at her. "Like I said, it's a very difficult process," he said.

"Good," she replied.

She thought she saw a faint smile twitch at the corners of his mouth as he said, "Very well," and stood up. "I'll just go get you the potions book."

By this time, Dobby had set two more steaming plates of food on the table. Tonks looked down happily at hers and immediately began eating. Dobby cracked into oblivion.

"So, Tonks," said Hermione in a deceptively light tone. "I know you told me specifically not to keep asking you this, but—"

"No, Hermione, I have not heard anything about Hogwarts yet," interrupted Tonks through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Hermione had been waiting all this time for some word, any word, on the future of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but so far, Tonks and Lupin had delivered nothing but uncertainty. It was so, so, very close to the time when school would start and Hermione was itching to know if Hogwarts would be opening. She usually waited until she was alone with Tonks to broach the subject, because Tonks normally leveled with her and spoke honestly.

"The governors…?" inquired Hermione.

"Have still not made a decision," said Tonks with a tone of finality. Then, at the crestfallen look on Hermione's face, she added in a softer voice, "Look, Hermione, things are just too dangerous right now. Remus is sure the governors won't allow the school to be opened while Voldemort is still at large, I've told you that. So it's going to be closed for a while. Without Dumbledore…it's just…it can't be opened…" Her face fell sadly and she trailed off. Then she blinked and looked back at Hermione. "But it's not forever…you'll get your seventh year eventually. Alright?"

Hermione gave a sad little nod and looked down at her empty plate.

"You know I'll tell you the second I find out anything," said Tonks.

Hermione nodded again just as Lupin walked down the stairs with a tattered red book in his hands.

"Page three-hundred and fifty-seven," he said, setting it on the table in front of Hermione. Then he sat down to his plate of food beside Tonks and began eating.

Hermione flipped to the correct page and skimmed the directions quickly. Lupin was right; the ingredients were simple. But there were so many steps…so many precise measurements to make. It would definitely be a challenge.

And Hermione loved a good challenge.

* * *

_He was trapped. Trapped in some sort of black cloud, chained to invisible walls by his ankles and his wrists. He called out. He cried for help. No one could hear him. He called for his father. He called for his mother. No one came to his rescue. He was alone. Lost in the black cloud. Chained forever to this darkness._

_Then, off to the left—a weak glow of white light. It grew brighter. It became…golden. The darkness of the cloud prison was slowly dissolved away by the ever-increasing heavenly glow. Suddenly—a face. A face in the light. The face of…an angel. He had seen her before. Somewhere. He knew her. He knew this angel, this beautiful creature from the realm of the heavens. But how? How could he possibly know her? Where had he seen those soft brown eyes and rippling curls before? The face was so familiar. So beautiful. Who was she?_

_Then she spoke soft, beautiful words that were music to his ears: "Malfoy. Would you get up already, you lazy git?"_

_Wait… Granger? Ah, hell…_

Draco groggily opened his eyes and stared up at the "angel" above him. It was Granger. He had apparently fallen asleep. But…he didn't remember falling asleep. Wait—he didn't really remember anything. What was this heavy feeling of impending doom in the back of his mind that seemed to be saying "Don't you remember?" What exactly was he supposed to remember? He flipped through the most recent images in his memory…Granger coming into his room with the potion…himself drinking the potion…then feeling all the pain…what next? Ah yes, Granger laughing at his pain. But what had happened after that?

Then the tell-all image popped up and Draco's sense of impending doom increased tenfold. It was the image of, and the remembered sensations that went along with, pinning Granger against the wall again and very nearly kissing her.

And along with this image came the image of an anvil falling from the sky and landing neatly on top of Draco's head. Now would be a really good time for that to happen.

As Granger stared down at him with one of her eyebrows quirked up, Draco wanted to just sink into the mattress and die. Shouldn't she be embarrassed or shy or something? Wouldn't a normal girl act like that after what happened between them? Oh, but of course. She was Granger. If she acted like a normal girl, it would probably kill her.

"What," he said, trying to sit up and trying to keep his face from turning red, because all he could think about was the way it had felt to have her body so close to his.

"It's time to wake up. You've been asleep for oh, about, twelve and a half hours," she said in an annoyed tone.

"My apologies," he said sarcastically. If she could act like her normal self, so could he. He shot her a glare for good measure.

Apparently this almost-kiss, just like the first one, would be sidestepped and overlooked. That was just fine with Draco.

"We didn't expect you to sleep this long," said Granger. "It's probably the effects of the potion. Your twelve hours are up, so we can heal you now. I've got a potion nearly finished, so I'll give it to you in a little while. I suggest you take care of any…business…before-hand. Do you need help getting down the hallway?"

She tilted her head slightly to the side in a way that made Draco want to snap it off completely. She was deliberately trying to make him feel uncomfortable. The girl was just…sadistic.

"No," he gritted out. "I don't need your help."

It wasn't just his pride talking. It was also a precautionary voice in the back of his mind that was telling him, "You know what kind of thoughts pop up every time you touch her. So why don't you just not touch her, 'kay, Hotlips? Save yourself the anguish." It was sound advice indeed.

Granger stood up and smoothed her black robes. "Alright, then," she said. "I'll be here with the potion when you get back." Then she walked to the door, opened it with a creak, and stepped into the hallway without a backward glance.

Draco ran a hand weakly over his eyes. He tried to push away any and all confused thoughts regarding Granger's apparent lack of concern for the shocking event that had transpired between them only…well, according to her, twelve and a half hours ago. It was a pointless endeavor, though, because it was the only thing he could think about.

How could she possibly be so calm and cool? He himself had felt the blood rush to his face just looking at her. Had she just—

Wait. He had a sudden thought. Was it possible that she hadn't even known he was trying to kiss her when he had her pinned to the wall? Draco immediately clung to the possibility. Could she have just seen it as an act of violence? Because that would be fantastic.

Maybe he had misread the look in her eyes. Maybe she hadn't really been waiting for him to kiss her. It was completely possible. He had been in excruciating pain at the time, after all. Perhaps he had just been delusional. Perhaps the look of desire he thought he saw in her eyes was really just his own, projected onto her. He very strongly hoped so, because it would greatly simplify the situation if his own desires were the only ones he had to take into consideration. Himself, he could control. And he would.

* * *

Once outside, Hermione leaned against the wall for a moment and closed her eyes. Her heart was beating rapidly. She let out a strained breath.

It was hard work keeping up a façade of normalcy around Malfoy. Much harder than she thought it would be. There was just something about his presence that set her heart racing.

She almost hated herself for acting the way she had, taunting him like that with raised eyebrows and tilts of the head. It felt like a lie. She hadn't gotten even the tiniest sliver of satisfaction from making him angry. But she couldn't stop herself. It just happened automatically. It was an easy way of telling him, "Nothing has changed, Malfoy, and you haven't affected me in the least." But that was a lie too.

There was a strange, heavy feeling of guilt in the pit of her stomach and she didn't know why. She felt like a bit of a fraud. She had the sudden desire to just talk to Malfoy plainly, without any pretenses, and just ask him all the questions she had.

Maybe she would. Could she? Yes. Of course. She would get the potion and wait for him in his room and when he came back, she would refrain from being mean to him (as long as he didn't deserve it) and try to get him into a conversation.

It couldn't be too difficult. It would just be a conversation. Nothing bad would happen.

Right?

* * *

A/N: 

There were two references in Hermione's dream sequence. Get both, you win a prize. (Hint: one is extremely obvious, and the other is from an obscure two-person play about ducks.) Tinyminx is not allowed to guess.

Anyway…ON TO MATTERS OF BUSINESS!

At this point in the story, my beloved Loyal Band of Reviewers has become severely divided. Some of you want me to speed up the romance. Some of you want me to keep it slow. Some of you want more than anything for Hermione and Draco to have their first kiss RIGHT NOW. I would love to please you all, but that is completely impossible, since you all want such different things. I apologize ahead of time if you're not getting what you want from this story. I can only hope you will all keep reading and following along with me.

Review, my Loyal Band. How was chapter 10, other than delayed?

Oh and also, as you can see, I changed the summary. What do you think of it? Does it make you want to click on my story more?

A few responses: (I would love to respond to all of you….but there are so many of you! These are just the ones that stuck out. But if you really want me to respond to you next time just say in your review, HEY YOU BETTER RESPOND TO ME NEXT TIME and I totally will.)

**DawnaMalfoy**: You're so right. They do need to sit down and have a conversation. Thank you for the input! Those are the kind of suggestions I like to hear. As you can see, I've built it up to happen in chapter 11. You'll see them kind of enter a new phase.

**Jo**: Thank you so much! I get all warm and fuzzy inside when people compliment my writing style. As for being published, heck yes I have considered it, I've got three stories in the works. And yes, bad boys do rock my world!

**Carwatcit**: I LOVE needless ramblings! lol. Thanks for your review…I'm really glad you think the story is believable. It's one of the things I strive for. 

**GooseyCorsair: **Self control vs. physical weakness? Very good question. It's self-control, all the way. Weakness wouldn't keep him off of Hermione if he really wanted to go after her. He's holding himself back though. And that is hot.

**SalemWitch:** Of course you're still allowed in my Loyal Band, silly. I was just disappointed cause I didn't know where you thought the story went wrong, and I was expecting you to clarify. But now I realize you were talking about the pace. I was just confused is all.

**Charlie: **Scottish boy…heh. Flying sandwiches ARE funny. I almost fell out of my chair laughing when I was writing that scene. (I find my own writing highly amusing at times.)

**S T I L L: **Thank you so much! I'm glad you found this story too. What do you think of the new summary?

**BlackEyedBella:** Ha, I'm SO going to write a me/Draco story. You can be in it too! lol

**Draco's-Cutie-Aaliyah: **Thank you! I am totally honored to be the funniest and most psychotic writer you know of. Haha….

**English Person: **Ah, okay, I get it now… I've actually never read a truth or dare D/H fic. Sounds weird.


	11. The Hug

A/N: Hola. Here's chapter 11, a heck of a lot later than usual. Enjoy.

* * *

Draco was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom examining the blackish, purplish dagger wound that marred his bare abdomen. It was a hideous, painful wound, one that he wished to be rid of as soon as possible. He was counting on Granger's new potion to heal it.

Granger.

Against his own will, the image of her face rose and clung to the front of his mind. He shook his head immediately to rid himself of her, but it was pointless. She was already there. He could picture her with that look of vehemence she always wore on her face when the two of them were having an argument. Her lips would purse into a thin line and her nostrils would flare…her brown eyes would blaze to life…

The image changed. He now saw himself kissing those lips while those brown eyes popped open in surprise.

Standing there in front of the mirror, looking at himself but seeing another, Draco had never before had such a strong urge to punch himself in the face. He just couldn't control his thoughts anymore. They were under Granger's control now. She had infiltrated his mind and taken full command.

It went beyond annoying, beyond anything he could bare. She was ALWAYS there with him, even when she wasn't in the damn room. Why had this happened? How could he have let it? He was infuriated with her and with himself.

He'd always prided himself on the amount of self-control and discipline he could exert in any situation. And now, at the moment when his entire life was teetering on the brink of some enormous change, he couldn't even control his own mind. Because of HER.

And now he had to get back to her so she could give him this new potion. He wanted his strength back, more than anything. But he knew that if this potion worked and he had more control over his body…well, he might just have less control over his actions. He would have to be extra careful around Granger. She had the uncanny ability to infuriate him seemingly without even trying. And then she ended up pinned to the bed or a wall and Draco ended up highly turned on. But would he be able to turn himself off?

He put his shirt back on and took one last look at himself in the mirror. His skin was flushed from the effort of walking down the hallway. His hair was disorderly, all pushed up in different directions. Normally he would care. Right now he didn't.

He twisted the door knob with a shaking hand and gathered his strength for the trip back down the hallway. He had to stop and rest against the wall twice. By the time he got to the door, his forehead was beaded with perspiration and his heart was beating double time.

He pushed the door open and saw Granger sitting in the wooden chair beside the bed, holding a large goblet in her lap. Draco leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his stomach in what he hoped looked like a casual manner. He was secretly just glad the door was there so he wouldn't fall down.

There was a short moment of silence in which the two teens just stared at each other, neither knowing or daring to guess what was going on in the other's mind.

Then Granger dropped her eyes to the contents of the goblet and said, "This is the potion."

"Is this one going to make me want to rip my esophagus out?" he asked with an edge of bitterness.

He saw the hint of a smile on her lips. "No," she said, looking up at him again. "Sit down so I can give it to you."

Draco walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down. He was fairly close to Granger's chair; their knees were just a few inches apart. She held the potion out to him. He studied her face for a moment. He wanted to make sure she wasn't tricking him. But her eyes held no challenge this time. No mischief.

"I didn't poison it," she said.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, but reached out anyway to take the goblet from her hands. His fingers brushed over hers accidentally. A tiny shiver went all the way up his arms and down his spine. Their eyes locked for a moment. He saw a flicker of _something_ in hers. But she transferred her gaze to the wall behind his head before he could make out what it was. She dropped her hands into her lap and intertwined her fingers.

Draco looked into the goblet. It was filled to the brim with a thick, dark blue liquid. He sniffed it cautiously, but found that it didn't smell like much at all. Maybe a hint of peppermint, but that was all. He brought the goblet to this lips and tasted a very small amount. It was sweet and warm, with that same hint of mint. It was agreeable indeed. A very, _very_ nice change from the last potion.

He drank it down while Granger looked on. As he drank more and more, a tingling warmth began spreading from his stomach throughout his body. He could feel it in his arms and legs, his fingers and toes. He finished the potion and handed the empty goblet to Granger.

"So…" she said. "How does it feel?"

Draco shrugged. "It's fine."

In fact, it felt very good.

For about two more seconds.

And then the tingling became more intense. Much more intense.

* * *

Hermione saw Malfoy's face change very suddenly. One moment it was relaxed. The next it was slightly puzzled. Then it grew uncomfortable.

And then quite suddenly, his eyes popped open wide and he gasped in a breath of air and collapsed onto the floor. He began writhing around, sucking in breaths of air.

Hermione froze like a deer caught in headlights. Was he having a _seizure?_

She was about to scream for Professor Lupin—when all of a sudden, Malfoy let out a strange noise that she didn't recognize at first. And then he did it again. And again.

And it hit her: he was laughing. Laughing uncontrollably, rolling around on the floor, flailing his limbs around wildly.

It was _the_ strangest thing she had ever seen in her life.

Hermione dropped down to the floor beside him and stared down at his tomato-red face. His eyes were streaming with tears, his head thrown back against the floor with laughter.

"Malfoy!" she shouted. "What…?"

She didn't even know what to ask. This was so strange.

Between gasps of breath and wild laughter, Malfoy managed to wheeze out, "Oh!…Oh, God…it—IT TICKLES!…What…what did you…put…"

"Malfoy, calm down!" said Hermione. He looked like he was being tortured. But it _tickled?_ The book hadn't mentioned any side-effects and Professor Lupin certainly hadn't said anything about…_tickling_.

"Just, uh…just stay here while I get Professor Lupin," she said. She jumped to her feet and ran out the door, all the way down the hall to the stairs. She could still faintly hear his laughter as she made her way into the basement kitchen where Lupin and Tonks were talking quietly at the table over some piece of parchment.

"Professor Lupin," she said breathlessly. "Malfoy's had a strange reaction to the potion, I think he's going to die."

He half-stood from his chair. "What's happened?"

"He's just…he's gone mad, he says it tickles. Is it supposed to tickle?"

Relief flooded Lupin's face. "Well, yes, actually, that does happen occasionally with this particular potion—"

"Well why didn't you mention it!" she yelled over her shoulder as she immediately began running back up the stairs. She didn't know if he responded to her or not. It didn't matter. She had to get back to Malfoy.

She could still hear his laughter. Actually, she could hear a lot of laughter as she made her way up the second staircase. She immediately saw the source as she reached the hallway.

Harry and Ron were standing right outside Malfoy's door, each in their pajamas, laughing hysterically at the unfortunate Slytherin.

Hermione's eyes blazed with anger. She pushed past her two friends into the room, turned to them, and said, "You should be ashamed of yourselves!" before slamming the door in their faces.

She dropped to her knees beside Malfoy's writhing form. She grabbed him by the shoulders and looked directly into his bloodshot, streaming eyes.

"Breath, Malfoy, just calm down and breath," she said soothingly.

His hands reached up to grasp the tops of her arms. He held on tightly, but didn't try to pull her closer. Hermione could tell that he was making an effort to stop laughing. Slowly, the laughter became more of a gasping, gurgling sound and he stopped flailing his legs around so much. Hermione stayed where she was, holding onto his shoulders while he held onto her arms, for a good ten minutes while he calmed down. It seemed like an eternity.

Very suddenly, she felt the last remaining tension leave his body. His eyes rolled back and his head slumped onto the floor.

* * *

"Malfoy…Malfoy!" Draco heard a girl yelling as the blackness slowly cleared from his vision.

He saw Granger kneeling over him. Something hard was pressed against the back of his head. It was the floor, he realized.

The potion. The tickling. It flooded back to him.

It was _torture_. He had been laughing uncontrollably. But nothing had been funny, not in the slightest. He remembered that Potter and Weasley had been standing over him. Laughing at him. There had been nothing he could do about it. He couldn't even move, couldn't even yell at them to go away. He was trapped within his own convulsing body.

Now he sat up gingerly. He felt Granger's hands on his shoulders, guiding him up and over to lean against the side of the bed. He looked up at her. Her eyes were brimming with concern, something he was not accustomed to seeing.

"I didn't know that would happen," she said, kneeling beside him. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Draco closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear this. She was being kind and reasonable. That's not what he needed from her. He needed her to be cruel and heartless so he could hate her and keep himself away from her.

The two of them sat silently for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

"How do you feel?" asked Granger.

"Not great," said Draco.

"Do you mind if I…" said Granger, pointing at his stomach. "Your wound?"

Draco nodded his assent. Granger slid closer to his side. She slowly reached out and took the hem of his shirt in her hand. She glanced up at his eyes before looking back down at his body. Draco felt a chill go down his spine as she began pulling up the fabric of his shirt. They were both silent. The tension grew. It was like she was opening a long-lost treasure chest and they couldn't wait to see what was inside.

When the wound was finally exposed, he saw her face light up. Then he realized he should probably be looking at his own injury instead of her face, and quickly looked down at it.

He was surprised to see that it was almost completely healed. All that remained was a reddish patch of raised skin.

"It worked," said Granger with growing excitement. "It actually _worked_. You'll probably have a scar, but…well, who cares, it worked!"

"You're doing that thing again," said Draco.

Her happy expression turned puzzled. "What thing?"

"That thing where you get really excited about weird stuff like disgusting wounds and…books."

She shrugged, but didn't say anything. There was a silence. Then she seemed to remember something.

"Um, Malfoy…there was something I wanted to ask you," she said, fiddling with the hem of one of her sleeves.

A million possibilities raced through his mind. "What," he said.

"Well…actually…I wanted you to explain to me why your Dark Mark was taken away. You never did before. And I've been wondering. So…"

He let her trail on. She seemed nervous. He had to make a decision very quickly: go with the sudden urge he had to talk with her, explain the Dark Mark issue to her, and risk seeming like he didn't hate her completely…or simply tell her to piss off and be able to keep the status quo.

The first urge took him.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked.

She stared at him for a moment. Then, scooting herself over to lean against the bed beside him (making sure to keep a foot of space between them, mind you), she said, "Because I'm curious. You don't have to have a reason to want to know something."

Draco mulled this response over. It was silent in the room. He was staring straight ahead at the wall. She was looking down at her hands. Neither was eager to make direct eye contact with the other.

Draco saw his opportunity. He could still tell her to get out. Things could stay exactly the same. All he had to do was say the words. _Get out_. He opened his mouth to say them. He had every intention to. But this is what came out instead: "It hurt like hell."

He could sense her face turn towards him. He kept staring at the wall. Wishing he hadn't just said those words.

"What did?" asked Granger.

He touched his wrist, almost unconsciously, in the place where his Dark Mark used to be.

"My Dark Mark," he said. "When he put it there. The Dark Lord."

"You still call him that," said Granger.

Draco turned to look her in the eyes. "What."

"The Dark Lord," she said. "He's not your lord anymore.

"So?"

"So why don't you try the V word."

He looked at her seriously. "I don't speak his name."

"Because you fear him."

"No," was Draco's immediate response.

"Then why?" asked Granger, her eyebrows raised skeptically.

His stare turned cold on her. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," she said.

"You were born a _muggle_. You _can't_ understand. It's that simple."

"There are much worse things to be born as," she said with a pointed stare.

"I can only assume you're referring to me," said Draco. "Which just goes to show how skewed your perceptions are. Being a mud—" he stopped. "Being a muggle-born and all."

_What. Did. I. Do. THAT FOR! _He thought immediately. He had just let her win. This battle had been going on between them for years. The Mudblood Battle. And now she had won. Because he had slipped. And corrected himself. For no apparent reason. What. So. Ever.

Mother— 

"Thank you," she said, interrupting his thoughts.

He didn't know what to say. He sure as hell wasn't going to say "You're welcome." And he couldn't deny the fact that he had changed "mudblood" to "muggle-born" to accommodate her. It was so obvious. Hell, he had stopped mid-sentence and corrected himself.

So he decided not to say anything. He turned his face away and stared at the wall again.

"You do have a point, though," she said quietly. "We were born into completely different worlds. But you can't choose the life you end up in. It's given to you. And it surprises me that you realize that…because you'd think it would make you more sympathetic to those born into lower stations in life."

When Draco said nothing, she continued. "You didn't have to _do_ anything to be born into a pureblood family. You didn't earn it."

Draco knew it was true. It wasn't exactly a shocking revelation; he'd thought it over before. He understood her point of view.

Which was slightly unsettling, really.

He saw her, from the corner of his eye, turn her head away from him. She'd made her point and he would let her have it. He wasn't going to feed the flames for an argument he knew she wanted. Not right now anyway.

"Your question, originally, regarded my Dark Mark," he said. "You've strayed considerably off topic."

"You haven't answered me yet," she replied.

"Fine: a Dark Mark represents loyalty. I was disloyal. End of story."

"Why were you disloyal?" 

He looked at her as if in disbelief. "He _killed_ my _parents_. What would you have done?"

"Well, of _course_, _I_ would defy the man who killed my parents," she said. "But…well, I wouldn't have expected _you_ to."

He stared at her hard. That was just insulting. Really, just…_insulting_. With a glare, he went to stand up. And he found to his surprise and delight…a flash of agonizing pain did NOT shoot up his side. His dagger wound was really healed.

But he also found (too late, when he was already on his feet) that he was still very weak, very drained, and very off-balance.

Luckily for Draco, Granger's falling-body-catching abilities were in fine working order after all these days of trying to keep him in the upright and locked position.

She shot to her feet and grabbed him around the waist. Draco caught onto her arms.

He immediately grew even angrier. He was so _sick _of this. He couldn't even support his own body weight.

"You took that the wrong way," said Granger quickly, looking up at him.

He ignored the subject at hand. "I thought that fucking potion was supposed to give me my STRENGTH back?"

"I meant that I wouldn't have expected you to defy Voldemort for _anything_," she continued, speaking rapidly.

He gripped her arms more tightly and stared daggers down into her eyes. "No, you meant that you thought I was a brainwashed little _fuck_ who would do anything to stay in the good graces of the Dark Lord," he nearly yelled at her. "But I wouldn't overlook the fact that he _murdered_ my _parents_, Granger." Strong emotion crept into his tone. "I wouldn't support the bastard who made my mother scream before she died."

Draco suddenly saw Granger's eyes turn all wide and glisten-y. Once again, at a moment when _he_ should be the one sobbing his eyes out, Granger got all teary-eyed and emotional. _Damn_ the female species.

He felt a pang of…well, _something_, deep inside his chest as her tears started spilling over onto her cheeks and she was staring at him with that tragic expression she pulled off so well.

He realized how close they were when he felt the little shaking sobs in her chest that she was trying to suppress. She had turned her face away from him and was now staring at the floor.

He also realized that there was no reason for them to be embracing each other any longer. He had regained his balance long since. But here they were anyway. Still together.

* * *

And somehow, without either teen really knowing why, their death grip had turned into a hug of sorts and all pretenses of an argument had been dropped. Hermione was no longer gripping him around the waist, but hugging him, her palms pressed against his back. Draco stopped caring who and what she was for a moment and pulled her against his chest, which she was now sobbing against, and put his arms, somewhat haltingly, around her shoulders.

It was strange for both of them. This hug went against their very nature. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor. But it was warm, and it was comforting, and above all…it felt _right_ in a way neither of them could deny.

It was meant to happen. And they couldn't have stopped it even if they had seen it coming a mile away.

* * *

A/N:

Well, it's true: review responses are no longer allowed. Sorry guys. If you specifically want me to reply to you from now on, mention it in your review and make sure you're signed in so I can hit the fancy little "reply" button. I also might just reply to you randomly. Who knows?

Please review, but don't yell at me for how long it took me to update because that will only de-motivate me even more. And de-motivation will certainly not lead to a speedy chapter 12. Take my word for it. Just tell me what you thought of this chapter. Thanks. Oh and a huge thank you to those of you who are being so patient and kind. I really, really appreciate you guys. Yours are the reviews that encourage me to write. Also, please note that my slow updates are due to a lack of time, not a lack of interest. I feel them as much as you do.


	12. Lightning Fur to the Rescue

Disclaimer: Yes, I'm disclaiming any rights to this stuff, blah blah blah...

* * *

Hermione was currently caught up in the strangest situation of her life. She found herself crying against the chest of Draco Malfoy, her arms wrapped around his waist, his arms encircling her shoulders. She couldn't even fathom that he was allowing this to happen. Let alone that _she_ was allowing this to happen.

But her emotions had taken over and she hadn't been able to stop the tears from coming. He had been so close to her, his voice filled with such anguish. The look in his eyes had been heartbreaking. Once her tears had started, she couldn't get them to stop.

She had expected Malfoy to push her away. To yell at her. To send her out the door. If he had, she would have yelled right back. She would have just slipped back into her role as his enemy and left the premises. It wouldn't have been so very difficult.

But he had surprised her. Shocked her, even, by sliding his harsh grip from her arms up to her shoulders and pulling her in close to his body.

It took her breath away.

He was so warm and solid. And then his arms… She could feel him hesitate for a moment before bringing them up around her shoulders.

She could hardly even comprehend what was happening. But it didn't matter, not in that moment. She felt light-headed, like a helium balloon drifting in the wind.

But now, minutes later, sense and reason were coming back to her. The tears were ebbing away. And it hit her quite suddenly, like a ton of bricks crushing her balloon…

_This is Draco Malfoy. What am I DOING?_

Just as that thought shook her into reality, she felt Malfoy's arms stiffen and drop away from her shoulders. She quickly reclaimed her own arms and took a step away from him.

The hug was over.

Then the two of them were standing facing each other, both feeling extremely awkward, neither knowing what to say or do.

Hermione noticed the dark area on his T-shirt where her tears had soaked in. It was such a strange sight. Her tears. On Malfoy's shirt. There because she had cried against him. Because he had let her. And he had comforted her.

These thoughts rendered her dumb and speechless for several tense moments in which Malfoy did little more than stare at her.

Then the link between her brain and her mouth righted itself and she managed to say, "Try to go to sleep. You'll need rest. I'll check on you later."

She didn't wait for him to form a response before she turned and walked quickly out the door.

* * *

_Draco… What did you just do. What. Did you. Just. Do. _

These were his thoughts as he watched her go. He stood there staring at the closed door for what felt like an hour.

His mind was twisting and turning with the strangeness of what had just happened. He had slipped up big time, worse than ever before. This shouldn't have happened. He should have told Granger to get out the second she started asking questions.

_Should have. Should have. Should have._

The words meant nothing. There was no "should have". He hadn't, and that was that.

Suddenly he felt very angry. Angry at himself, yes, but mostly just angry at Granger.

Somehow that infuriating, know-it-all, Gryffindor female had gotten him to say and do things he never would have imagined saying or doing before. He cringed inwardly at the very thought of his actions.

He didn't use the word "muggle-born"! He didn't give _hugs! _HUGS, for God's sake. He didn't care if he made girls cry. Hell, making girls cry was an _accomplishment_.

So why, just _why_, had he called her a muggle-born instead of a mudblood? And why had he HUGGED her? And why, _someone please tell him WHY_, when he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, had he felt like Snape's dagger had been plunged into his heart?

Draco tore his eyes away from the door and sat down weakly on the bed. He noticed his hands were shaking as he rubbed them angrily over his eyes, trying to get some feeling back into his brain. He must be going mad. What else could explain these changes in him? He was cooped up in a house full of Order members, a good bit of them Gryffindors, basically being held prisoner, hardly able to move because of the injuries inflicted upon him by a man he had looked up to for years…

Yes. He had every right to be going insane.

This place had driven him to insanity. And suddenly he knew that he had to get away. He had to leave this house that seemed to be changing him and run far, far away. But he would have to wait for the right moment. He was already on the heal. All he needed was more rest, and soon his health would return to normal. At that point, if these do-gooders didn't let him go, he'd just have to find a way to escape them. He didn't know where he would go or what he would do, he just knew that he needed to get as far away from these people as he could. Especially Granger.

He laid down on the bed, thinking about his impending escape. When he could walk more easily, perhaps as soon as he woke up, he would explore the house. All he had seen so far was this room, the bathroom, Granger's room, and the hallway. He would have to learn where the entrances and exits were, where everyone slept, exactly who lived here and who came and went. He also needed to figure out where they were keeping his wand.

Soon Draco's eyes grew heavy and his thoughts began to fade. The last sensation he had before unconsciousness, as he laid his hand on his chest, was the feeling of the cold, tear-soaked spot on his shirt.

_Her tears_, was the last thought that passed through his mind before he fell asleep.

* * *

After fleeing Malfoy's room, Hermione had gone straight to the bathroom to run cold water over her eyes. She didn't want anyone to know she had been crying.

All she could think about was the feeling of Malfoy's arms around her. The way he had just pulled her into him… Merlin, her stomach flipped over every time she thought of it.

She couldn't forget the feeling of comfort she'd had in those few moments with Malfoy.

_Malfoy._

She shook her head at herself in the mirror. She was looking at a crazy person.

After a few more splashes of cold water on her face and some deep breathing, Hermione left the bathroom and made her way down to the kitchen (pointedly not looking at Malfoy's door as she went past) where she found Harry and Ron eating breakfast together.

Their conversation stopped and they both gave her a subdued "'Morning". Hermione observed the cautious expressions on their faces.

"What?" she said, sitting down at the head of the table. They glanced at each other and were silent for a moment.

"Well it was quite funny, Hermione," said Ron. Harry nodded his agreement.

She was puzzled for a moment. Then she remembered shouting at them for laughing at Malfoy. She had forgotten everything, apparently, after that hug.

"Oh," she said. "It's alright."

"How's the git now?" asked Ron, in his most spectacular attempt at concern for Draco Malfoy to date.

"He's…alright," said Hermione. There was a silence as Harry and Ron continued eating. "So…how long do you get to stay here, Ron?"

"Mum didn't say," he said, shrugging. "I suppose it doesn't really matter, if I'm here or at the Burrow."

"Probably a hell of a lot more interesting at the Burrow, though," said Harry.

Ron didn't respond.

"Hmm…well it's good to have you here," said Hermione. "What are you two going to do today?"

"There's nothing _to_ do," said Harry with an edge of bitterness. "There's never anything to do in this house."

"We'll find something, mate," said Ron. "Chess, or maybe some more dueling. That was fun."

"I don't…" Harry sighed. "I don't want to play chess. And I don't need more dueling."

"Well…?" said Hermione.

"You know what I'm getting at," said Harry, laying his fork on the table and leaning in to speak more quietly to them. "I'm sick of this house and being stuck inside all the time. This isn't how it's supposed to be."

"What do you mean?" asked Ron.

"You know," said Harry. "You know how it's always been. We don't just sit back while things happen. I…I want to be out there. I want to be looking for him."

"Looking for him, Harry?" said Hermione. "Voldemort? He's not just…not just hiding in a dumpster somewhere. You're not just going to find him, and certainly not by yourself."

"Maybe I don't have to be by myself," said Harry.

"And who'll go with you?" asked Hermione. "The Order won't let you leave, you know that."

"Maybe the Order doesn't know what's best," said Harry.

"And you think you know better?" asked Hermione.

"Maybe," said Harry.

"No, Harry," said Hermione, placing her hand on his and looking him in the eye. "I know that look in your eye. You're plotting. Please don't do anything stupid."

"Sitting in this house and doing nothing is what's stupid, Hermione," said Harry.

"Harry," she pleaded. She turned to Ron. He was staring silently at them. "Ron, tell him to listen to me."

"What makes you think he'll listen to me?" asked Ron.

"Harry, what are you going to do?" asked Hermione as she felt tears burning her eyes.

Harry stared at her silently and was about to open his mouth when—

"Harry!" yelled Tonks from somewhere in the house.

Harry glanced at his two friends before standing up from his chair and walking to the stairs.

"Harry…" said Hermione weakly as he ascended the steps.

"Yes?" yelled Harry to Tonks, making his way out the upper door.

Hermione turned to Ron, who looked pale.

"What is he talking about?" asked Hermione. "Has he said anything to you?"

Ron shook his head slowly. "No…not until just now."

"What do you think this is all about?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know…" said Ron. His brow was knit in thought. "He's been acting strange since I got here."

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.

"Well…he jokes around and laughs like his normal self. I mean…you saw us dueling. But it's like…"

Ron trailed off into silent thought.

"Like what?" asked Hermione.

"Like he's…acting. Like he has to put an effort into every laugh. Then the rest of the time his face gets all serious and he has this weird look in his eye. Like he's thinking about something bad."

"Well…" said Hermione. "That isn't so unusual. I mean, he's got a million bad things to be thinking about lately. But…from what he just said, it sounds like he's…maybe got something planned."

"He bloody _ran away_ the other night, Hermione. And he ran into Snape of all people and came back with the little bundle of joy upstairs. Who knows what he's going to do next? And don't tell him this," he said, dropping his voice lower and leaning in closer, "but that's the only reason Mum let me come here. She and Dad want me to keep Harry out of trouble."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh, Ron…this is bad. Your parents are worried that he'll do something?"

Ron nodded. "So are a lot of people. You wouldn't think so, being cooped up all alone here, but this house and Harry are all we ever hear about from the Order members. They stop by the Burrow all the time to see Dad and they always mention Harry. Every time."

They sat in silence a moment, both absorbed in their thoughts.

"I'll help you as much as I can, but I've got Malfoy to take care of" said Hermione. "You have to keep Harry occupied. You have to get it in his head that we need him here and he's not safe anywhere else. He—"

The sound of footsteps coming from the hall silenced her in mid-sentence. Harry came striding down the stairs a moment later and Ron and Hermione tried to make it look as though they hadn't just been talking about him.

"What was that about?" asked Ron.

Harry took his seat again. "Tonks wanted to talk to me."

"What about?" asked Hermione.

"Nothing important," said Harry. He looked back and forth between Ron and Hermione. "Look, you guys don't need to be worried about me. Don't go ringing the alarm bells or anything. I'm not going to do anything stupid."

"You promise?" said Hermione.

"Yes," said Harry. "I promise I will not do anything stupid."

* * *

"Malfoy," he heard her say quietly. He felt a small hand shake his shoulder as he pretended to still be asleep.

Granger was someone he did not want to see right now. His sleep had been full of nightmares involving hugs, and people, and hugging people, namely _her_, and he really didn't want to re-live any of that right now.

"Malfoy, I know you're awake," she said. "Open your eyes."

He did open them, immediately throwing a scowl at her and her tray of food.

"You have to eat," she said.

"I have to sleep," he replied, turning over onto his side away from her.

His eyes popped open wide at the realization that rolling over had caused only the slightest feeling of soreness in his abdomen. He sat up easily and looked at Granger.

"I can move," he said, running a hand over his side.

"Let me see the wound," said Granger, setting the tray down on the chair next to the bed.

Feeling curious himself, Draco lifted his shirt above the wound—or the place where the wound used to be.

"Incredible," said Granger quietly, staring intently at the thin, white, inch-long scar that had replaced the blackish-purple…_thing_…that had been there before. "Do you feel like you have more strength?"

"I don't know," said Draco, pulling back the covers and lowering his feet to the floor. He stood up slowly…

…and _didn't_ fall over. His legs were still a bit shaky as he took a few steps around the room, but vastly improved nonetheless.

When he looked back at Granger he noticed that she was smiling. Which felt strange. The smile faded slowly from her mouth, though, as their eyes met. He couldn't ignore the strange feeling he got in the pit of his stomach when their eyes connected like that. He would have liked to think it was nausea from the sight of her, but…well, it simply was not.

She dropped her eyes first. Then she cleared her throat in the way Draco was getting so used to. He noticed she did it just about every time she was feeling uncomfortable.

"Are you ready to eat now?" she asked.

"I guess," he said. "But I'm not getting back in that bed."

She opened her mouth, probably to protest and to tell him he needed more rest, but then shrugged and pulled out her wand. She conjured up a small table in the center of the room. Then she moved the tray of food onto it and pulled the chair over.

"There," she said. She conjured up another chair and they both sat down.

As Draco started eating, Granger summoned a newspaper and began flipping through the pages. Minutes of silence passed by.

"What time is it?" asked Draco eventually.

"Around five," said Granger without looking up from the article she was reading.

"How long did I sleep?" he asked.

"A long time," she replied.

They went back to silence for some time, Draco eating, Granger reading.

"Some Fire Whisky would be quite welcome," said Draco.

Granger rolled her eyes up at him. "I hope that's a joke," she said.

"I take it you've never tried any," he said.

"Of course not," she said. "And I don't ever intend to."

"And a good thing, too," he said. "You couldn't handle it."

She scoffed. "As much as I would _love _to take the bait and enter into a drinking contest with you to prove myself, I don't think Harry even has any Fire Whisky."

"Of course not," said Draco. "Perfect Potter would never drink."

"Don't start," said Granger. She gestured to his tray of half-eaten food. "Are you done here?"

"Quite," he said, sitting back against his chair.

"I'll be back," she said, gathering up the tray and turning to leave. Draco watched her as she walked out the door.

He waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps on the stairs before walking out the door himself.

* * *

Hermione received a bit of a shock when she came back to an empty room. Her heartbeat accelerated far beyond healthy limits. She quickly realized, though, that she could hear the sound of water running in the bathroom.

She strode over and knocked on the door. "I told you to stay put, Malfoy," she said through the wood.

"No you didn't," he called.

_Did I?_

Hermione thought back for a second. "Okay," she said, "but it should have gone without saying."

She heard the water shut off. Two seconds later, Malfoy poked his dripping head out the door. "Even if it had gone _with_ saying, I still wouldn't have listened to you," he said.

"Well—"

"Have my clothes been washed?" he asked before she could say anything.

She clenched her jaw in anger. She hated being interrupted, especially by Malfoy. "You are extremely rude," she said.

"I shall repeat myself, as you seem to be hard of hearing: have my clothes been washed?"

Hermione hadn't even opened her mouth to retort when she felt a whoosh of fur go past her legs.

Crookshanks.

In a reaction that was very quick, but not quick enough, Malfoy slammed the door shut in a futile attempt to keep Crookshanks from entering the bathroom. He was too slow for Lightning Fur, though.

Sounds of commotion and chaos immediately followed as Hermione pressed her ear to the door. First some purring…then some things being knocked over onto the floor and some stomping…then some hissing, and Malfoy yelling, "Fuck! Get away from me!"

"Malfoy, I'm coming in!" she called to him before turning the doorknob. He may have yelled, "NO!" right before she opened the door, but she couldn't even remember afterwards.

Malfoy was standing inside the shower, covering the lower portion of his otherwise naked body with the shower curtain that he had apparently just torn from its hooks in hasty preparation for Hermione's entrance. He was also apparently trying to fend off the fearsome Crookshanks with a bottle of lavender shampoo, which he was holding out in front of him like some sort of oddly-shaped, nice-smelling sword.

His face turned several shades of red as he stared at Hermione in shock (probably shock from the fact that she'd had the audacity to walk in on him while he was _naked _in the bathroom) and he seemed at a loss for words.

Hermione slapped a hand to her mouth just as she burst into laughter. She quickly stooped down to pick up Crookshanks (who was crouched like a lion in front of the shower, swishing his tail back and forth, apparently getting ready to pounce on Malfoy) and, with a final glance at Malfoy (a sight which sent a brand new wave of laughter rippling from her mouth), she hurried through the doorway.

She heard something thud hard against the door just as she closed it and was fairly sure it was a flying bottle of lavender shampoo. She looked down at the struggling Crookshanks in her arms and said to him through tears of laughter, "I can't figure out why you like Malfoy so much, but keep up the good work," before letting him down gently to the floor. He sauntered down the hallway in an agitated manner and disappeared down the stairs.

Hermione took deep breaths to try and stop laughing, but it was very difficult. The image of Malfoy dressed in a shower curtain, wielding a bottle of shampoo kept popping up. She sat down against the wall and clutched her sides, which were really starting to burn. But after a few minutes of concentrated effort, she had quelled her laughter down to an occasional giggle.

She heard Malfoy say through the door, "Shut it, Granger. Get me my clothes."

Suppressing a bout of renewed laughter that cropped up just at the sound of his voice, she couldn't resist saying, "I don't know, Malfoy…you looked awfully nice in that shower curtain."

The door opened about an inch, very swiftly, and Hermione could almost feel the blazing anger that was burning in Malfoy's eyes.

"If only I had a wand, Granger…" he said through the crack. His voice was furious.

Hermione realized it was time to stop messing with him. She stood up, pulled out her own wand, and summoned the clothes he had been wearing the night Harry brought him here. Dobby had washed and repaired them since.

She handed them through the door to him (narrowly avoiding getting her fingers slammed) and waited while he got dressed. And when the door opened again…

He was _the_ Draco Malfoy.

Blond hair slicked back, severe black robes covering a crisp white shirt and black pants, his jaw set arrogantly, his stature proud and tall…and his signature glare aimed straight at Hermione.

She had a very strange feeling when she saw him standing there like that. All this time taking care of him so far, she had been dealing with a weak, wounded, and disheveled Draco Malfoy. It was easy to mess around with him and be mean to him when he was in that position. But she had nearly forgotten what it was like to be around him in his full form. He was…intimidating.

She suddenly felt very little.

* * *

Draco still felt like his insides were blazing with anger as he looked down at Granger. It felt very, very good to be able to stand over her again, and doubly so because he was back in his own clothes. He was still in some pain, especially after having to stand up in the shower so long, but it was nothing compared to before.

He couldn't understand Granger. One minute she almost seemed like she wanted to make peace (or at least a truce) between the two of them and the next, she was going out of her way to piss him off. He really didn't care what she did either way, but it would be great if she could make up her damn mind.

"If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask," he said through clenched teeth. He would try to get her back at least partially for embarrassing him the way she had.

He felt great pleasure at the sight of her cheeks tinting pink.

"Don't be disgusting," she said, clenching her fists at her sides. "You should thank me. If I hadn't stepped in, the kitty cat might have mauled you to death."

He took a step towards her, and she quickly stepped back. "You think you're funny," he said. "I had the situation under control."

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "Crookshanks had you backed into a corner and your last defense was a bottle of shampoo."

His nostrils flared and he took another step towards her. When she backed up, she was against the wall. There was about two feet of space left between them. When Draco started to move forward again, she pulled out her wand.

"Don't," she said, pointing it at him. He halted.

"Don't what?" he asked.

"You're trying to intimidate me," she said.

"Not trying," he said. "I am intimidating you."

"No you're not," she defied.

He moved forward another half step and Granger pressed herself back against the wall.

"I will hex you," she said.

As he went to move forward again, she sucked in a breath of air and pulled her wand back and got as far as "Stup—" before Draco rushed forward the rest of the way and placed a swift hand over her mouth. He grabbed her wand hand and pressed it against the wall and then did the same with her other hand, which had just gotten about two good slaps in on his face.

"Let me go!" she ordered. But her voice wavered and Draco could see what he guessed to be a glint of fear in her eye.

He was so close to her, and for a second, all the images of their encounters over the past few days came flooding back to him. Twice he had come so close to kissing her. And just that morning he had embraced her in what had lasted much longer than one could call a normal hug.

He had to wonder how they could have gone from that tender little moment to _this_. But no matter what they were doing, there was always that…that _something_ between them. Like a tug he couldn't resist, as if some invisible rope were pulling him towards her. It didn't matter if he wanted to comfort her or if he wanted to choke the life out of her. It was there and he couldn't get away from it. He just got sucked in.

Like right now. He hated her so much, but the urges he was feeling for her at that moment were ones you normally associated with a much different emotion. He felt drugged, looking into her eyes and being so close to her that he could feel the quick breaths rising and falling in her chest.

He felt her slowly stop struggling. Now they were looking back and forth between each other's eyes, each trying to gauge just what the other was feeling. His eyes kept being pulled to her lips, and the rebellious, unrestrained portion of his brain wondered what they would feel like under his. For a moment, he saw absolutely no way around it. He would have to kiss her. There was just no choice. Resistance was futile.

But then he suddenly became aware of the sound of footsteps in the hallway below. The clouds seemed to part over his brain and he blinked several times. He dropped Granger's hands and backed away from her, silently thanking whatever force had sent him the wake-up call.

He walked quickly down the hallway to his room and turned back one last time before shutting the door to find that Granger looked just as confused as he felt.

* * *

A/N: I'm so sorry, guys. I don't _try_ to put them in these kinds of positions only to make them NOT kiss just to torture you. Really, I don't. I can't help it. It's like they have minds of their own and always end up back at this point. I can't control them. I apologize.

Anyway…I made a forum for this story called "The Slow Heal and its Loyal Band of Reviewers" but it disappeared for some reason. So if you want me to make another one, or if you want to take it upon yourselves to make a forum for this story, either tell me and I'll make one or you can just go right ahead and make your own. Just let me know so I can go and check it out. (Maybe you can add in a topic about how much you all hate me right now…)

But first, my dears, review. Please. It will make me so happy. What did you think of chapter 12?


	13. Godric's Hollow and the Man Named Maven

Disclaimer: I now owna character! Yay! I invented him! But all the others...that's J.K. Rowling. As if you didn't know.

* * *

_One month earlier:_

He was here. This was the place Harry had thought about ceaselessly since the night Dumbledore had died. He was standing just inside the front door of the house that held such meaning for him. The house he had been born in. The house he had been cursed in. The house his parents had been murdered in.

This was Godric's Hollow. And it was not like Harry had expected. He had no real memories of this house, just feelings. But those feelings were of warmth and comfort and this shell of a home held neither anymore. It was the middle of summer, but the house was chill. From the look of the clutter and furniture, nothing had been moved since…since that night. A thick layer of dust coated all surfaces. The room Harry was standing in was a large kitchen with a round table in the center. It was dark and damp. Lifeless.

He was alone here, but not really. Ron, Hermione and an escort of Order members waited just outside. They were giving him time by himself and he was glad for it.

He made his way slowly across the wooden floor, being careful not to disturb anything. It didn't feel right to touch anything. He made his way further into the house, passing through the first doorway into what looked like a living room. A couch and chairs were centered around a wide stone fireplace.

Contrary to the amount of gold his parents had left in Gringotts, this house was simple and homey. James and Lily Potter had certainly not lived extravagantly. Harry liked that.

There were doors to the left and right, but Harry was drawn instead to a battered wooden door straight ahead. Judging by the vines that were creeping in under the crack, Harry guessed that it led outdoors.

He twisted the rusty doorknob and pressed the door outward. Indeed, this was the backdoor. Harry stepped out onto a thick blanket of vines and grasses. He was standing in a small clearing surrounded by thick, tall oaks with gnarled, twisting roots and moss-covered limbs. Sunlight trickled through between the leaves and cast shadows over the ground. It had a mysterious feel to it.

Harry's breath hitched in his throat at what he saw to the left: two gravestones, covered in vines, held under the shade of a large oak.

He had known the graves would be here…but that hadn't prepared him for actually seeing them. He walked over to them slowly, his heart racing. He knelt on the ground between them, and gently pulled the vines away.

He felt the burn of tears in his eyes as he looked at their names inscribed in the stones. His parents. They were lying right beneath him. Lily and James. Dead.

Because of Voldemort.

Harry's body was soon wracked with sobs, his hands twisted into the vines covering the ground. His heart was burning with bitter pain.

"I'm going to kill him," he whispered to his parents between sobs. "I'm going to destroy every last bit of his soul and _kill him_."

Suddenly, a kind of crackling energy, unheard, unseen, and unfelt, but somehow _sensed,_ filled the air behind Harry. His breath drew in sharply and before he could even turn—

"Anger is not the best strategy," said a deep voice from behind.

Harry spun around—and saw no one.

"Who's there?" he said. He stood up quickly and brushed the tears from his face. He yanked his wand from his robes. No one answered. "I said who's there!"

"Calm yourself," said the stranger's voice from no apparent direction. "You are in no danger here."

Harry was standing in one spot, looking in all directions. He could not tell where the voice was coming from.

"Who are you?" he asked, straining his ears.

"My name is Maven," said the voice. "And you are Harry Potter. It has been requested of me to help you."

Harry didn't know what to say. All he could think was, _this is a trap, this is a trap, this is a trap. _"Let me see you!" he called.

There was a pause.

"As you wish," said the voice. And then a dark-clad figure appeared out of thin air ten feet in front of Harry. He was thin and pale, with a dark ponytail tied at the nape of his neck. He had the palest, strangest blue eyes Harry had ever seen. He looked to be maybe forty, judging by the slight grooves around his mouth and on his forehead.

"What do you want?" asked Harry, pointing his wand at the man.

He regarded Harry with a strange expression. "I don't want anything," he said. "I've been sent to assist you."

"Sent here? By who?" asked Harry.

The man was silent for a moment, staring intently at Harry. "Your parents, Harry. Albus. Sirius."

It was at that moment that Harry realized he could see the sunlight streaming _through_ the man's body. A gasp of air caught in his throat.

"What are you?" he asked in a whisper, taking a stumbling step backwards.

"Do not fear me," said the man, Maven. "What I am is not what's important here. Just know that I am…somewhat of a half-being. Not quite a ghost, and not quite alive—" he stopped abruptly. "The girl is coming."

"What?" asked Harry.

"Harry!" called Hermione's voice from the front of the house. "Harry, can we come in?"

Harry didn't take his eyes off the stranger.

"There isn't much time, Harry, but I need to explain," said Maven. "We know you're going to go looking for Voldemort, and we know we can't stop you…but you must let us help you. All we ask is that you wait. At the end of August, come back here. I'll be waiting. Until then, let the Order protect you. You must stay with them."

Harry was so confused. He had so many things to ask, but his tongue couldn't make words.

"The end of August, Harry," said Maven. "Don't forget."

And then he was gone. Completely vanished. Harry was left staring at the empty space in his wake, completely speechless.

Almost immediately, Hermione stepped through the back door of the house. She took one look at Harry's tear-stained face and ran to hug him.

"Oh, Harry," she said, embracing him around the middle. "It's alright."

Ron followed moments later. "You alright, mate?" he asked tentatively.

Harry glanced once again at the place where Maven had vanished. He nodded at Ron. "I want to leave now," he said faintly.

That encounter haunted Harry's thoughts and dreams for the next few weeks. Several times he had himself convinced that the whole thing was just an hallucination and Maven was not real. Mostly he just put it out of his mind and tried not to think about it.

But now it was fast approaching the end of August and Harry had a decision to make tonight. Should he return to Godric's Hollow? He struggled and struggled over it. What if the whole thing was some sort of trap? What if Voldemort was behind it? What if he was walking straight to his death?

But at the same time—despite all reason, logic, and caution—he knew he had to go and that there was no way around it. He felt the knowledge deep in the pit of his stomach, every time he thought about the strange man with the pale blue eyes.

He had to go and find out the truth, even if it killed him.

* * *

Hermione was just a wreck. She was still standing against the wall in the hallway, her wand gripped tightly in her hand. Malfoy's door had closed probably five minutes ago. She felt paralyzed, almost. Frozen with the remembered feeling of being trapped by him.

And the feeling of giving in to him. Yes…that's what she had done. She had given in to Draco Malfoy.

She could only be glad that he seemed to have more self-control than she did. It was horrifying to think that if he had wanted to kiss her—if he had really wanted to, and had actually gone for it—she wouldn't have stopped him. The thought made her sick.

She would have let him kiss her.

It was obvious and so terrifying that she couldn't even deny it, even though she wanted to. She wanted to be able to tell herself, "You're Hermione Granger. You wouldn't let Draco Malfoy within ten feet of you. You just wouldn't." But that would be a lie. She knew she wanted to be close to him. Her whole body seemed to scream it at her every time he came near. She had never felt this way before.

How could she hate someone so much and want him so badly at the same time?

Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts. She felt unclean. She walked quietly to her room at the end of the hallway and gathered her things to take a shower.

* * *

Draco was feeling highly unsettled. He was in his room, sitting in one of the wooden chairs, bent over with his head resting in his hands. His eyes were closed.

As much as he was trying to change the subject in his mind from Granger, he couldn't. Her face would float up from the depths of his thoughts, and he would shake his head violently, and curse her inwardly, and try to think of something else. And thirty seconds later, she would be back. Glaring at him. Mocking him. Laughing at him. Waiting to be kissed by him.

He wanted very much to throw one of these chairs at her.

He'd had enough. This was it. He couldn't keep having these close encounters with her. His willpower was at an all-time low. He felt diminished.

Here he was, back to health (pretty much), looking like himself, wearing his own clothes…exactly what he had been dreaming about since he got here! And all he could do was sit here in his little chair and think of Granger. He wanted to throw a chair at _himself_.

_What is wrong with me?_ he thought over and over.

And then it hit him.

His wand.

His head snapped up at the realization.

He needed his wand to be himself again. He needed to find it, and escape this place, escape Granger. Then he could be Draco Malfoy again.

* * *

Hermione was sitting between Ron and Harry at the dinner table in the kitchen, eating supper with Tonks and Lupin.

She felt much better after her shower, having changed into an old pair of muggle jeans and a comfortable gray T-shirt.

The mood at the table was somber, though. Harry remained distant despite Ron's attempts to pull him into a quidditch discussion. Lupin looked pale and tired. Even Tonks was quiet. And Hermione, of course, had a great load on her mind. There was a heaviness in the room, a gloominess.

With a good two-thirds of his dinner sitting untouched on his plate, Harry said abruptly, "I think I'm going to go to bed now."

Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron as Harry pushed back his chair and stood up to leave.

"Do you feel okay?" asked Tonks.

"Yeah, fine," said Harry. "Just tired."

"Are you sure?" asked Hermione, her brow creasing in concern.

"Yes, absolutely positive," said Harry, this time with a familiar edge to his voice.

"Okay," said Hermione. She had the compulsion to ask again, but managed to stop herself.

She watched him as he walked briskly up the stairs and out of sight. She exchanged another glance with Ron. They were both thinking the same thing: _Harry's acting strange_.

Hermione was lost in thought for the rest of the meal.

_What is Harry up to?_ she wondered repeatedly.

She decided that after dinner she would quickly look in on Malfoy to make sure he wasn't dead and then go to check on Harry. She ate quickly and then excused herself from the table.

Walking up the stairs, she felt very nervous about seeing Malfoy again so soon after their last…episode. Nonetheless, she walked right up to his room and opened the door—

And looked around. And looked some more. And walked down the hall to the bathroom and looked in there. And checked her own room.

He was gone.

Her first thought was: _I have to tell Harry._

She ran down the stairs, through the hallway, past the stairs leading to the kitchen, past the library, past the dining room, and down the darkest, innermost hallway that led to Harry's room.

"Harry—" the name died on her lips as she opened the door.

Malfoy was standing just inside…holding a wand. His own wand. And he was pointing it directly at her.

Her breath hitched in her throat. "Where's Harry?" she asked, taking a step backwards.

"How the hell should I know?" he replied.

Her first thought was that he was toying with her. But she knew his toying-around voice very well…and this wasn't it.

"He wasn't in here?" she asked, her heart beginning to race.

"No," he said. "Now get out of my way."

Her began walking towards her, his wand outstretched and—

_Footsteps. _

Outside the door. Hermione spun around and at first saw nothing. Until, to her horror, she noticed the footprints rapidly imprinting themselves in the carpet down the hallway.

Harry was invisible.

And he was running.

"Harry!" she cried, immediately breaking into a run down the hallway. Malfoy was, for the moment, forgotten. Past the dining room, the library, the lower stairs, the upper stairs—

—the front door slammed shut just as she got to it.

"Harry!" she called, flinging the door back open. She raced down the three stairs to the sidewalk and looked left and right. There was no sign of Harry. She made a quick decision and began running to the left, her wand held out in front of her.

Suddenly she became aware of footsteps directly behind her and a moment later, before she could even turn to look, she felt the air being knocked out her lungs as someone caught her around the waist and flung her to the ground.

"Granger, you—idiot!" snarled Malfoy from atop her. He yanked her to her feet by her wrists. "You're a sitting duck! Get back to the house!"

He began pulling her back down the sidewalk from where she had come, glancing all around him for possible threats.

Hermione heard a crack in the distance and knew it was Harry Disapparating. Almost immediately, and without any reason, two words broadcast themselves so vividly in her mind that she thought she could see them spelled out right in front of her face:

_Godric's Hollow_.

She stopped forcefully in her tracks, causing Malfoy to jerk backwards. Without a second thought, she raised her wand, filled her mind with the thought of Godric's Hollow, and spun on her foot.

* * *

It happened so quickly. One moment Draco was pulling Granger back to the house…the next, everything went black and he felt like his eyeballs were being sucked out of his head. Then, abruptly, cool night air rushed in around him and tiny raindrops began falling on his face. He still had an iron grip on Granger's arm.

"Damn it, Granger!" he yelled at her, realizing with fury that she had Apparated him.

But her attention was elsewhere, her eyes focused with terror on the masked figure that stood in the center of the clearing they had just appeared at the edge of.

It was a Death Eater.

Draco reacted with amazing speed, yanking Granger behind a wide oak just as a jet of red light flew past their heads.

"Where the fuck are we!" he yelled at her, as more spells were fired off around the tree.

But once again, her attention was elsewhere. She was looking past his shoulder, her eyes wide.

"Harry," she said under her breath. Then she bolted away from him, towards whatever she had seen.

Draco was about to follow her, but thought better of it. He was enraged. He had no idea where the fuck he had just been magically transported to, his guide had just frolicked off into the woodlands, he was being attacked by _Death Eaters_ with only a tree as his shelter—and it raining on him, to top it all off.

He kicked the dirt furiously and swore. He wondered how many Death Eaters were in that clearing. He poked his head quickly around the tree, narrowly avoiding a jet of red light that streamed past his head.

There were two of them.

With skills taught to him by some very experienced Death Eaters, he began throwing curse after curse around the tree trunk. He heard a moan, and then a thud, and after several more well-aimed curses, another moan and thud. He leaned around the tree trunk. They were both down, but not dead.

His first instinct now was to go after Granger. There were probably more Death Eaters where those two had come from, and she obviously did not have her wits about her. She wouldn't be able to defend herself from a surprise attack.

But this was his grand escape. He should be halfway around the world by now. He should be starting over, leaving his past behind. Granger was in the past. Who cared if she died?

_I don't_, he told himself resolutely.

And so, burying whatever musings of heroism he had lapsed into thinking, he began making his way quickly and quietly through the trees. After a few minutes, the rain began to fall heavily. Luckily, the insides of his robes were lined. His clothes would stay dry in this fiasco, if nothing else. He had no idea where he was. The next clear spot he came to, he would Apparate.

And then he heard something that made the blood in his veins shiver.

Granger was screaming.

Without thinking twice, he ran towards the sound, not caring how much noise he made in the process. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him until his sides burned fiercely and his lungs were aflame. He stopped and looked around, heaving for air. He didn't know where he was going, or if he was still running in the right direction. He wished with every fiber of his being to hear her scream again. It would tell him where to run and, more importantly, it would indicate that she was still alive.

He couldn't risk calling to her. He knew that he shouldn't, that it would bring Death Eaters from all directions. But he felt a desperation welling up in his chest that couldn't even attempt to explain. He wanted to scream her name and hear her scream back to him.

Suddenly, a strange kind of crackling filled the air around him. A dark figure appeared in front of him in the rain.

"She's this way," called a man's voice. "Follow me quickly if you want to save her."

The figure began to move. Draco hesitated only a moment before following. He had to run as fast as before just to keep up with the man. Low-hanging branches slapped at his face as he raced through the forest, dodging in and out of trees, squinting his eyes in the rain, trying not to lose sight of the man. This was insane, but he didn't care. He had to find Granger.

He passed an enormous, dark, ancient tree covered in thick mosses and vines. Beyond it was a small clearing. And there she was, bound at her wrists and ankles, her mouth gagged, sitting at the base of a tree in the middle of this downpour.

"Behind you," said the strange man, who hovered at the edge of Draco's vision.

Draco spun, and shouted, "Expelliarmus!" before the Death Eater standing behind him with a raised wand could curse him. "Stupefy!" he called, and the Death Eater collapsed to the ground.

Draco ran to Granger and sank onto his knees beside her, his hands moving automatically to untie her. When her wrists and ankles were free, he reached behind her head and untied the gag. He resisted the strange urge to hug her.

"Why did they tie you up?" he said, still gasping for air, pulling her to her feet.

She was shaking all over and her eyes were wide with fear.

"Who is that?" she asked, regarding the pale man in dark clothing who stood off to the side.

"I am Maven," offered the man calmly. "And the reason Harry has come here tonight. He is safe."

"Where is he?" blurted Granger immediately.

"Safe," said the man patiently.

She took a few quick steps toward him before Draco caught her by the arm.

"Where is he!" she repeated angrily.

Maven shifted his attention to Draco. "There are many more Death Eaters here tonight. Do not Apparate, or they will follow. Do not run in the open. That tree is hollow," he said, pointing to the enormous, ancient tree Draco had passed only seconds earlier. "Hide her inside and stay there until the way is clear."

And then he was gone. Just…gone. Literally vanished into thin air.

"No!" shouted Granger. "He has Harry!"

Draco grabbed her by the hand and pulled her over to the tree.

"He has Potter safe," said Draco in a harsh whisper, still trying to catch his breath. "Shut up or they'll hear you."

"We have to find Harry," she said, her voice on the verge of tears.

Draco kept her hand clamped in his as he pulled a clump of vines aside and stepped into the enormous, dark cavity within the tree. He pulled Granger in after him. The strange cave-like hollow was maybe the size of the bathroom at Potter's house. It was somehow illuminated, though Draco could not tell how. It was darker outside than inside the tree. It was almost like the walls were glowing.

"Let me go!" cried Hermione, struggling against the grip of his hand. "I saw Harry! Right when he got here, I saw him go off into the trees—"

"Shut up!" he whispered urgently into her face.

But she wouldn't. She was panicking, trying to escape from his grasp, making all sorts of noise, yelling about finding Harry.

_They're going to hear her_, thought Draco with dread. _They're going to hear her, they're going to hear her, they're going to—_

And then, overtaken with the thought of shutting her up, completely overlooking the consequences, he jerked her in close to his body by her shoulders and bent his head down to crush her mouth with his own.

The second their lips touched, he felt like twenty thousand volts of electricity were coursing through his body.

He felt the shock of it from the hairs of his head to the very tips of his toes, a searing heat that spread over his body like wildfire. His hands and his lips were smoldering, seared firmly onto her. For a moment, he couldn't pull himself away.

And when he did, wrenching his lips away from hers and snatching his burned hands from her shoulders, he couldn't breathe. His chest rose and fell with short, panting gasps as he stared down at her.

She certainly wasn't yelling anymore. Maybe he had kissed some sense into her.

She was swaying slightly, staring up at him with shocked but sane eyes, breathing hard. He saw the way she shivered, the way her wet clothes clung to her body. The way she might collapse at any moment.

He couldn't keep himself away from her.

He rushed forward at her, this time wrapping his arms around her waist, finding her lips again and pressing onto them urgently. He caught a glimpse of her surprised features before shutting his eyes. She was so soft, and so small in his arms, and so—

—so not resisting him. The realization hit him very suddenly as he felt her lips pressing back against his. Then he felt her hands press against his chest and slide up slowly, maybe hesitantly, around his neck. A shiver ran all the way down his spine.

He pulled his lips away for a moment to take in a lung-full of air and she did the same. Their eyes met for a brief moment, filled identically with churning, contradictory emotions. Then they crashed back together, meeting in the middle, Draco hauling her body tightly against his with arms that wrapped possessively around her torso. He had never kissed a girl this way before, with so much passion and intensity. It consumed him, made him dizzy. He could feel every curve of her body pressed into his, every staccato beat of her heart, every breath that she managed to inhale and exhale. He wanted more of her, all of her. He slipped his tongue through her open lips with as much caution as he could muster at this point (which was not much).

She tasted like innocence, sweet and soft, as he explored her mouth. His hands roamed feverishly over her back, trying to pull her in tighter though he had long since closed the space between them. He couldn't get close enough.

But suddenly a very sharp feeling of foreboding invaded his chest. They were in danger here. This place was treacherous. He was going to lose his senses and a Death Eater was going to be able to sneak up on them. They were exposed, though hidden.

He pulled his lips away from hers with the same hesitation that goes along with getting out of bed on Saturday morning.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"We have to leave now," he said. But he said it drunkenly, without much conviction. His voice surprised him. It was heavy and dark, almost a groan. This is what Granger did to him. He didn't even sound like himself after kissing her. And he could hardly catch his breath.

She nodded up at him, and the look in her eyes was that of Hermione Granger, not the twittering, frightened girl from before. He took a second to really look at her. She was soaking wet, trembling all over, probably freezing to death. She had run out of the house after Harry wearing just jeans and a T-shirt. Draco disentangled his arms from her body and took off his robes to swing around her shoulders. The insides, at least, were dry and would probably keep her warm.

When he looked down into her eyes afterwards, they shared a look that roughly communicated, "I don't like this situation one bit either, but there's nothing we can do about it."

He grabbed her hand in his and pulled back the clump of vines for them to step through. They began making their way quietly through the forest, dodging from tree to tree in the darkness.

* * *

A/N: Yeah. There it is. It happened, finally. I hope you liked it? Review and let me know. Sorry for the slow update. 


	14. The Cave

Hermione's heart pounded wildly within the confines of her chest as she felt herself being pulled along quickly by the crushing hand of Malfoy. He darted in and out of the shadows, between the trunks and limbs of ancient, moss-covered oaks, hardly making a sound on the carpet of drenched leaves as he made his way through this strange and unfamiliar forest.

Hermione's lips still burned from his kiss. Despite the danger of their current situation, trying to make it out of this forest without being killed by Death Eaters, she couldn't make it ten seconds without flashing back to that moment in time.

She had been overcome with panic after the masked Death Eater had knocked her to the ground not with a spell, but by a blow to the side of the head, and then tied her up at the base of a tree. She had been set out as bait for Harry, and realized it immediately upon regaining consciousness. The overwhelming thought of that, mixed with the pain in her head, had pushed her over the edge. She had panicked, overcome with a feeling of dread so consuming that she couldn't even think reasonably or see straight. All she could think was, _please don't let Harry come, please, please, let him stay away from here, don't let him find me, don't let them take him_. And then Malfoy had arrived, along with the strange, pale man in dark clothing. Hermione realized in a split second, as the Death Eater emerged from behind Malfoy, that she was not only bait for Harry, but bait for Malfoy.

But Malfoy had turned at the pale man's warning, and loosed his wand upon the approaching villain. She felt a fleeting moment of relief as the Death Eater sank to the ground.

But even after that immediate danger had passed, Hermione's mind was still in tumult. Harry was gone. The pale man had him. He was taking Harry away from the Order, away from safety. The next few minutes were extremely blurry in her memory afterwards, but she remembered struggling bitterly against Malfoy as he pulled her into a strange place, trying to escape him so she could find Harry. And then—

She felt a pair of lips on her lips, pressing sanity into her. As if a light switch had been flipped on, she immediately became aware of the sensations surrounding her—a glowing light permeating from the walls of this damp shelter; the chill of the evening air; the wet coldness of her clothes clinging to her body; the dull ache of her head where she had been struck; the hands that gripped her shoulders firmly and held her in place against a warm, solid body; the mouth that covered hers and wouldn't relent. She was being kissed, a small sector of her mind told her. It was such a strange realization.

Then the lips and the hands and the body retracted, letting the cold air rush in around her. She felt shocked as she looked up at the wide-eyed, gasping face of Malfoy. Shocked and cold and—

And then he was back, faster than her eye could detect, locking his arms around her waist and pulling her into him. The next few minutes melted into each other, and all she could remember afterwards was the warmth, and the closeness, and the desire that welled up inside her chest as his lips sought hers again and again with a hunger she never knew existed within him.

She had never been kissed like that before, not once in her seventeen years. The feelings that accompanied it shocked and overwhelmed her. Because, truth be told…there was no other feeling in her memory that could eclipse that of being kissed by Draco Malfoy.

She only hoped he didn't know that.

Hermione snapped out of this latest reverie when Malfoy, halting suddenly in mid-stride, pulled her roughly, though soundlessly, behind a thick cluster of bushy trees. There he knelt, pulled her down to the leafy ground beside him, and turned his head to the side. He seemed to have heard something.

Hermione watched him intently as he listened. His brow was creased in concentration, his eyes focused on the ground in front of him. The closeness of him as he knelt there beside her, their shoulders touching, her hand clasped within his, sent a shiver through her. Her whole body was tensed as she waited for whatever it was he seemed to be anticipating. Two or three minutes passed in complete silence, not even the birds of the forest daring to disturb the heavy silence as Malfoy listened. But Hermione's knees began to hurt from crouching, and her head was throbbing painfully, making her dizzy. She felt so weak, like she might collapse at any moment.

She whispered, "Malfoy—"

And before he could put a hand over her mouth, before he could even shoot a warning glance at her, the attack came.

The red dart of light shot through the leaves of the low, bushy cluster of trees in front of them and between their heads, narrowly missing both of them. In almost the same instant, Malfoy yanked her back to her feet and began pulling her swiftly behind him as he dodged wildly in and out of the trees, jumping over fallen logs and low brush, pushing through tangled branches, trying desperately to escape the barrage of spells that shot ceaselessly behind them.

The only real defense they had in this situation was speed. All they could do was try to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the Death Eaters.

* * *

Draco held on tightly to Granger's hand as he crashed through the forest. Silence would help them no longer. All they could do was run, and run fast. He could tell she was wearing down; they had been running nonstop for at least five minutes now. His anger, though, at her chosen moment to speak up, snuffed out any sympathy he may have momentarily kindled for her. If she had kept her mouth shut back there, the Death Eaters might have just moved on and searched elsewhere. They wouldn't be involved in this high-speed chase right now.

The landscape became rocky and pitted, though still thick with ancient tree growth. They had to move more carefully now while still keeping up pace. He could still feel the spells whizzing past them. It was a miracle neither of them had been hit.

Granger was weakening rapidly. Their pace slowed despite his efforts to keep her moving. A feeling of dread invaded his chest as he realized they might be caught; this might end tragically.

But as suddenly as that feeling entered his chest, it was pushed aside by another. It was a strange, almost tingling feeling that seemed to begin leading his path, telling him which way to go. He couldn't explain it to himself and didn't have time to anyway. But he was no longer leading blindly. Suddenly, he could _feel_ whether to turn right or left, whether to climb up the hill or down the slope, whether to enter this thick patch of trees or take the clearing. He _knew_. This feeling guided him steadily until the bright jets of light behind them began to thin in number and fail in aim. And when they heard the very last one hit some random point deep in the forest some ways to the left, and they came out of a particularly dark, thickly wooded area and down a rocky slope—

Outlined by the dim light of the moon, there stood the mouth of a cave, nestled snuggly in the hillside, camouflaged by dense foliage, visible only from the angle at which they now stood. They both stopped abruptly at the sight. Thinking only a moment, Draco strode up to it, pulling Granger along behind him. He had to duck his head to enter, but she did not. He began to lead her into the darkness. As they walked further and further inside, the tunnel of the cave grew wider and taller, and instead of darkening, it became illuminated with the same strange glow of the tree from earlier. The rocky walls seemed to shine with light.

When Draco felt they were far enough inside, he stopped and dropped Granger's hand, turning on her suddenly. His anger had not dissipated, not even slightly.

"When you're running from Death Eaters," he said venomously, moving towards her, "and they could be anywhere at any time, and you're with someone who actually happens to know what he's doing, and he stops and hides you and tells you to shut up…_you don't speak_."He was upon her now, speaking in low, harsh tones meant to hurt, edging closer and closer into her space, as she backed up towards the wall. "Unless, of course, you're an idiot girl, or you have a death wish, or you completely lack all common sense."

As he flung these words at her, moving in closer like a snake about to strike, he saw her waver on her feet. Her eyelids fluttered closed and then opened, and she brought a shaking hand up to her head.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, his anger still saturating his tone.

She brought her eyes up to meet his, and they were filled with pain, physical pain, and then she brought her hand down from her head, took one look at the red liquid staining her fingers—and slumped into him.

He caught her around the waist before she could sink to the ground. Her hands clung to the fabric of his shirt.

"What the hell?" he said, holding her tightly to him.

She lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him with dizzy eyes.

"I think…I think I need to lie down," she said faintly.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked again, not letting her go.

"My head…" she said weakly, pressing her forehead against his chest and closing her eyes.

He looked down at the floor—it was too jagged to let her lie here. After just a moment of thought, he bent down, slid his left arm behind her knees, and lifted her into his arms like a child. She moaned slightly and reopened her eyes as he began carrying her further into the cave.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes focused on his face.

He didn't answer her, but kept walking, surveying the cave floor with his eyes. When he found a flat, relatively smooth area of rock, he knelt down and lowered her body carefully onto it.

She still had her hands entwined in his shirt, and so he had to bend over her, resting on his knees. Their faces were very close, and he was all too aware of the location of her lips in respect to his. His anger had subsided without him even realizing it. As he knelt there over her, she searched his eyes with her half-lidded ones, for what he did not know. He only knew that he couldn't pull himself away from her.

"What happened to your head?" he asked after a moment.

She closed her eyes at that, as if remembering. She took her right hand from his shirt and brought it up to tentatively touch the right side of her head just above the ear. He reached down a hand and pushed the wet curls back from her scalp. There was a shallow gash there, bleeding slowly.

"How did that happen?" he asked, scrutinizing the wound.

"One of the Death Eaters knocked me out with something," she said. "I didn't see what it was."

He felt a searing anger fill the pit of his stomach.

"Sounds like something they would do," he said. Hypocrisy, perhaps? As he used to be one? He didn't care. He felt only scorn and disgust for their actions now.

She didn't respond, only closed her eyes. He thought she had fallen asleep. He went to stand—but her hand still gripped his shirt. She opened her eyes and shook her head almost imperceptibly at him.

"What," he said.

She released a small sigh and closed her eyes again. He once again thought she was asleep until she said quietly, "I'm cold."

Indeed, she was shivering. His eyes ran up and down her small form.

"You already have my robes," he said.

She didn't respond. But she also didn't release her grip.

_What does she want from me?_ he thought.

* * *

_Of all the times to be thick,_ thought Hermione.

She was freezing. Her head was throbbing with pain. The world spun when she opened her eyes and she felt like she might pass out at any second. Everything was pain and dizziness and fear. She was scared to be here, in this place she did not know, in a cave hidden in a forest, with a boy who might abandon her at any moment, being chased by horrible men who wanted her dead.

All she wanted right now was to be comforted, and to be warm, and to go to sleep. She wanted Malfoy to hold her so she could go to sleep without fearing that she would never wake up again. The pain in her head shadowed almost all traces of pride and dignity within her. She didn't care about anything, except being held. And if it didn't happen soon…well, she could already feel the burn of salt tears beneath her eyes. She couldn't just come out and say it, though. Desperate as she was for comfort, she wouldn't sink to _asking him_ to hold her. She was still Hermione Granger and no amount of pain could bring her to that level.

She felt his presence over her, the warmth of his chest under his shirt. Why couldn't he just understand her meaning? Why couldn't he just lie down with her? He seemed to just be sitting there, waiting for an explanation.

The first hot tear slipped out the corner of her closed eye and ran down her cheek. She didn't want him to see her cry. She released his shirt and turned over on her side away from him as more tears slid from her eyes. The movement caused even more pain in her head. It was like a sharp drumbeat that would not cease, blurring all her thoughts and pushing reason aside.

She heard Malfoy stand and walk away. The sound of it was sorrow in her ears. She felt herself shaking with sobs now, shaking with pain. And then frustration. Anger. Draco Malfoy was cruel and heartless and he didn't understand kindness or feelings. All these days she had taken care of him and watched over him, setting her own wants and needs aside to make sure he didn't die. She had actually cared about his well-being. She had actually tried. And now, here she was, in need of _him_, and all he had to do was hold her, not make her difficult potions or heal her wounds. All he had to was comfort her. Such a small task compared to hers, such a—

So wrapped up in these thoughts and her pain was Hermione that she didn't even hear his footsteps returning. She snapped out of her mental tirade only when she felt the arm go around her waist, and the other arm slip under her neck, and the warm body press against her back. She felt as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs, so powerful was this gesture.

Her pulse raced; she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. To be so close to him—it almost cancelled out the throbbing pain in her head. She was consumed with his mere presence. She couldn't see him, but she could feel him, his warmth, his heartbeat, his breathing. She could smell the scent of him, and it was like a drug. Her mind grew fuzzier, her thoughts fainter and more disjointed. She felt the tension go out of her muscles as she relaxed against him. All negative thoughts relating to him were but ghosts now. She could not recall a one of them. She wanted to say something, to thank him in some way for not being horrible .

"I…" she began very softly.

"Shut up, Granger," he said lowly next to her ear. She felt his arm pull her even closer to his body.

She fell asleep with the corners of her mouth tilted up in a slight smile.

* * *

Okay. So he had kissed her. And now he was holding her in his arms while she slept. It was somewhat difficult for Draco to wrap his mind around these facts.

_So what'd you do today, Draco?_

_Oh, you know…got transported to a strange forest where Death Eaters chased me around…met a weird guy who can disappear into thin air without using a wand…kissed Hermione Granger inside a tree—_

_WHAT!_

_Yep. Kissed her inside of a tree. And not just any tree: a glowing tree. Oh and then we got chased by some more Death Eaters. Then some sort of magical force took over my body and led me through the forest to safety. And then we found a cave. A glowing cave, of course. And…now I'm just laying here…holding her…in the cave…yeah…_

Draco's thoughts wandered off into this imaginary conversation. He was in that half-awake, half-asleep phase that comes just before unconsciousness. This day had been a strange one indeed. (And coming from Draco Malfoy, that's saying something.) He wondered just where he was, exactly, and if he would get away from here safely. He wondered if the Death Eaters were still around. He wondered just what would happen next.

But mostly, he wondered why the hell he couldn't control himself around Granger. The question haunted him and lingered in his thoughts even as he tried to push it away. It kept screaming itself at him, reverberating inside his skull.

_Why are you holding her so tightly? Why couldn't you have remained strong as you walked away from her? Why couldn't you just stay away? You made it about one minute into the cave before the thought of her lying on the cold floor in pain, alone, crying, overwhelmed you. You turned back and laid down beside her and now you're holding onto her like she's the only thing keeping you from flying off the earth's surface. What is it about her, this annoying little Gryffindor mudblood? Why couldn't you stop yourself from kissing her? Why are you dragging her through the forest at the risk of your own life, trying to protect her? _

_I DON'T KNOW! _he screamed back at the voice.

He didn't know why he did these things. He didn't know what it was about her that made him act this way. He just. Didn't. Know. He couldn't explain it to himself or justify it, this pull she had on him. There was just this _feeling_ around her, a straining gravity, a taut string that had woven itself between them over the preceding days and finally snapped inside of the tree. And yet…it hadn't snapped. It was still there, welding his body protectively against hers as she slept. She was just…

He cut off the thought. He didn't want to think about what she was and wasn't. He didn't want to think about her at all. It was enough that he couldn't control his body around her. He wouldn't let his mind be struck down with this illness also.

Soon after this thought, he was taken by sleep. It was a hazy, light sleep dotted by half-dreams and random images. He woke up several times during the first two hours, often with a start. He found Granger sleeping soundly each time. After those first couple of hours, his mind began drifting into deeper sleep.

_He was back in the chamber. The dark, round room lit sparsely by dim torches mounted on moist walls. The floor was cold, jagged stone. He felt the cold metal of the shackles restraining his ankles and wrists. He heard the chains shake and rattle as he struggled against his bonds. The cold, stone wall was to his back. And before him—evil._

_The Dark Lord stood at the center of the round chamber, scanning his snake eyes across his three captives. Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy, chained to the wall in a row. _

_Draco looked over at his mother, whose forehead was bleeding above the eye. She held her chin upwards; her jaw was set tightly. But he could see how she weakened. How her knees shook from the strain of standing upright so long. _

_His father began to plead, "My lord, we have been loyal—"_

"_You have failed," said the Dark Lord, cutting him off._

"_But Dumbledore is dead," said Lucius._

"_Killed by Severus," said the Dark Lord, taking a step towards Draco. "Not by this one. You recall the deal we made. I don't believe Severus was mentioned."_

"_Draco was incapacitated—"_

"_Draco failed. He is weak."_

"_Spare his life," pleaded Narcissa, her voice wavering. "I beg of you—"_

"_Oh, I will not kill him," said the Dark Lord. "He deserves a far worse fate than that. Death would be a blessing."_

Torture_, thought Draco. _He's going to torture me.

"_Draco will live a long life. He will stay here and follow me loyally for the rest of his years. He will rise amongst the ranks of my followers and perhaps become important. Perhaps become strong. But…he will live the rest of his life knowing that he killed the parents who loved him. He will be haunted by the memory of the screams of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. _

_Just as the Dark Lord lifted his wand—the scene shifted. His parents were no longer in the room. In their place: a small, curly-haired, Gryffindor girl dressed in Hogwart's robes. _

_Hermione Granger._

_She looked at Draco with fearful, piercing eyes. _

"_Malfoy!" she cried._

_The Dark Lord laughed. _

"_You think he can save you?" he asked. He raised his wand and yelled, "CRUCIO!"_

_She screamed in a way that made Draco's insides freeze over. Her body twisted against her restraints, her face contorted in pain._

"_NO!" cried Draco. "Stop!"_

_He couldn't free himself. He struggled violently against the shackles, the metal bands cutting into his flesh. _

"_Malfoy!" she called to him through her screams. "Malfoy! Malfoy!"_

"Malfoy," said a soft voice next to his ear.

He jerked awake and looked around wildly for a moment, not recognizing his surroundings. He thought himself still in the chamber. Where was Granger?

But he looked down and she was right there next to him, pressed tightly against his body. Held there by his own arms. She was staring at him with a puzzled expression.

He felt a strange physical awareness in that moment, as their eyes locked and the fuzziness of sleep dropped away from his brain. He felt the burn of air in his lungs as he struggled for breath, the cold perspiration on his flushed skin, the rapid pounding of his heart against his chest. Against her chest. She was right there, so close. Her screams still echoed in his mind. But her mouth wasn't screaming now. It was silent. And so close to his own.

Every unwanted feeling from the past week came back to him. Every repressed desire swelled to the surface and galvanized him. She coursed through his veins like fire.

He descended on her like the bull charging the matador, her lips the red cape. Her eyes popped open in surprise even as his closed tightly. He heard some sort of gasp die in her throat as he rolled her onto her back under him. He supported his weight on his knees on either side of her hips, kissing her deeply from above, his hands flat on the floor above her head. This new position came in one fluid motion, and he was on top of her before she even had a chance to react. He had assumed, based on their earlier kiss, that she was all in favor of making out with him.

This is why the stinging slap across his cheek startled him so much.

* * *

One second Malfoy had been yelling in his sleep, obviously suffering some horrible nightmare, and the next he had just—_attacked_ her. It happened so quickly and startled her so much that her brain actually shut down momentarily. And when it started back up again, and she realized she was being kissed almost savagely, without her consent, her first thought, from the depth of her haughty little Gryffindor heart, was:

_How dare he!_

She hauled back her hand and slapped him across the cheek. A far cry from her actions inside the tree only hours before, but…well, that was completely different.

He broke the kiss immediately, his eyes flying open. He stared down at her, his chest still rising and falling against hers, his face flushed and questioning. She stared back at him, almost wondering for a split second if slapping him had been necessary. She pushed the thought away.

"Get off," she said in a voice that sounded strange to her ears.

She saw his jaw clench and his eyes harden over, hiding whatever feeling had been in them. Then, without a word, he stood, turned away from her, and began walking in the direction of the cave entrance. She watched him go, his form highlighted by the glow from the walls. Then the tunnel curved, and he was out of sight.

She sat up weakly. Her mind was reeling. She unconsciously raised a hand to touch her lips as she thought over what had just happened. He had kissed her again. She had slapped him. Now he was leaving. And she alone.

The thought didn't fully register at first. And then she realized: she was going to be all alone in this strange place with no one to protect her. Actually…alone.

Her pulse quickened. This was not good.

* * *

A/N: Speedier update. Hope you enjoyed it! Tell me what you thought, my wonderfully loyal, ever-reviewing, Loyal Band of Reviewers. My love burns for you with the fire of a thousand suns. 


	15. The Cabin

Disclaimer: I no steal.

* * *

Draco was furious. How _dare_ she slap him! It was just…unacceptable. Inconceivable. He had never, _never_ been slapped by a girl for kissing her. He was completely unused to the concept of a girl not wanting to be kissed by him. Especially when he had already kissed her once! How could someone be so misleading? She certainly hadn't slapped him inside the tree! Hell, she had kissed him back.

Now, though Draco wouldn't admit this to himself, he was obviously feeling some embarrassment here. He had gone out on a limb, kissing her like that inside the cave. His emotions had been running high after that dream and kissing her had felt extremely good, in a way that was embarrassing in itself. And then—she had completely rejected him. She, as in, _Hermione Granger._ Had rejected _him, _Draco Malfoy. With a slap.

It was just unbelievable to him.

His cheek (as well as his pride) still stung as he strode angrily through the tunnel of the cave, away from that…that…_deceptive bitch._ He was leaving her, to where he didn't know, or care. He was going to get away from this fucking forest if it killed him. He would Apparate if he had to. To hell with the Death Eaters. If they followed him, so be it. He would run. Just so long as he wasn't surrounded by these damn TREES anymore!

He reached the mouth of the cave and stepped out into the dimly lit forest. It was morning, a wet morning, and a few bare spots in the canopy of trees overhead allowed thin streams of sunlight through. He surveyed the area quickly with his eyes. Should he go back up the slope they had come from? Or enter into the thick, dark woods straight ahead?

An image flashed quickly before his eyes: Granger sitting alone inside of the cave, crying, bleeding from the head. It made him wince.

He quickly shook it away. The slope or the woods? He forced his mind to think only of this. Slope or woods. Slope or woods.

He glanced back at the cave mouth.

_Slope or woods. Granger doesn't matter. She slapped you. She doesn't want you around, and you don't want to be around her. You don't want her. What does she matter? She's a stupid mudblood. Slope or woods. Hurry up and choose. She doesn't matter. If she dies, great. It's her own damn fault for slapping you. _

Another image: a Death Eater coming upon her unconscious form inside of the cave. She wakes up. She's screaming.

_Slope or woods. Hurry up and fucking choose. Forget about her. If they get her, it's her own fault. She deserves whatever she gets. _

"Quite the decision," said a voice to the left.

Draco spun—and saw no one. He drew his wand.

"You don't need that," said the voice from nowhere. "It is I."

And then he appeared, standing off to the left under the branches of a tree. It was the man from yesterday, the one who led Draco to Hermione. Draco did not put his wand away; he pointed it firmly in the direction of the man's chest.

The man stared at the wand. "Well, if it gives you comfort…" he said.

"What do you want?" asked Draco. "And who the fuck are you?"

The man paused, as if deciding which question to answer first. "I am Maven." He stepped forward slightly from under the branches. "And what I want—or rather, what Harry wants—is for you to deliver Hermione Granger to safety."

Draco's features hardened. "And why would I want to do that?"

Maven stared hard at Draco. He had piercing eyes, and Draco felt uncomfortable under their gaze. He felt like he was being…searched.

"Because she will die here in this forest if you don't," said Maven.

Draco felt his stomach clench. He ignored it. "And you expect me to believe that?"

"I expect," said Maven, stepping forward more, "that after I leave, you will walk back into my cave (which I so graciously led you to last night), apologize to Miss Granger for your ungentlemanly actions, and lead her through the tunnel until you reach the opposite entrance. Outside you will find a small cabin. You will bandage her head and let her rest. And then you will find a way to get her back to the Order of the Phoenix, without attracting the attention of your former friends."

Draco was taken aback by these words. This man knew things he had no business knowing. (_Ungentlemanly actions!_)

"And what if I don't?" asked Draco, his face still hard. "What if I walk away and leave her to die?"

"Mr. Malfoy," said Maven in a lower tone, "there is no possibility of that happening."

And then he was gone, without any warning whatsoever.

Draco was left staring stunned at the empty space where he had been. Maven had spoken those last words with such unwavering confidence, as if stating a well-known fact. Draco's normal reaction would have been to go out of his way to prove the man wrong…but he realized after only a moment's thought that there was just no point. The truth of Maven's words still reverberated in the air and Draco felt it heavily.

There was no possibility of him leaving Hermione Granger to die.

* * *

Ron sat in his room at the Burrow staring forlornly into space. He felt so…useless. After Harry, Hermione, and Draco had disappeared, Lupin had insisted upon his going home. (As had his mother). This felt so wrong…being stuck in the house while Harry and Hermione were out doing Merlin knows what. 

No one knew where they were. They could be dead for all anyone knew. But Ron tried not to think about that. He tried to think that they were off having an adventure together and that they would come to collect him any moment now. And that Draco had somehow died along the way.

It just didn't make sense to him, though. Why would they take Malfoy but not him? Why would they not tell him where they were going, or even that they were going? Why would he be the one left out?

He was feeling more than a little self-pity. And he was worried. Damn worried.

* * *

Hermione was taking deep breaths, trying not to panic. She could make it on her own. Really, she could. She had her wand. She was highly intelligent. Surely she could find a way out of this mess. She didn't need Draco Malfoy to save her. She…she… 

HOW COULD HE JUST LEAVE HER LIKE THIS?

What kind of a man would just leave a woman, a woman with a head injury at that, to fend for herself in a forest full of Death Eaters? Had she really hurt his pride _that much_? How could she have felt safe with him? He was horrible! How could she have _kissed_ him? He was like a small, spoiled child who threw tantrums when he didn't get his way. Did he really think she would have just let him kiss her like that? She had enough self-respect, for goodness sake, to behave like a civilized woman instead of some hormone-crazed teenager.

Beneath her anger she was scared. Terrified, in fact. She didn't want to be left alone. She knew she couldn't Apparate to safety, though she wasn't entirely sure how the Death Eaters would be able to follow her. Malfoy would know, though she couldn't ask him now. So she was stuck here in this forest.

In this cave. This strange, glowing cave that seemed to be closing in on her. She was breathing heavily, her heart beating rapidly. Her head pounding. She was sitting against the wall, cradling her aching head in her hands. She didn't know what to do. She hated the tears that began to run from her eyes, leaving burning trails down her cheeks. She hated Malfoy for leaving her. She hated herself for not knowing what to do.

Then there were footsteps.

Her head shot up and she stood quickly, preparing herself for the worst. She held her wand at the ready, intently watching the shadow that grew larger as its owner approached the curve of the tunnel.

And then Malfoy appeared, turning the corner and halting at the sight of her wand. Relief flowed swiftly through every cell in Hermione's body. She dropped her arm and stood staring at him.

There was a moment of silence in which their eyes locked onto each other and the full weight of their situation crashed down on both of them. They had kissed each other. All those years of hatred—and they had kissed each other. The space between them seemed to crackle with energy. Hermione felt an invisible pull and almost thought for a moment that she might somehow collide with Malfoy, though ten feet of space stood between them.

Then Malfoy shifted on his feet and hardened the look on his face. Hermione mentally shook herself and realized she still had tears running down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly.

"Follow me," said Malfoy, walking past her without meeting her eyes and continuing down the tunnel.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling relief of the strongest kind. He had come back.

* * *

He could hear her footsteps falling lightly behind him as he pressed forward through the cave tunnel. It varied in width and height as they explored its new regions, and Draco at times had to crouch as he walked. He repeatedly felt the urge to turn around and look at Granger, though he didn't know why. He kept remembering the expression on her face when he had come upon her just moments before. It had seared him inwardly. Tears were running unchecked from her eyes, and her face was filled with a fear he had rarely (if ever) seen in her before. And then at the sight of him, relief had washed visibly over her features, her jaw unclenching, her eyebrows softening. He had caused that. The sight of him had caused that. And that knowledge caused another kind of searing inside. 

His leaving had scared her, he realized. She obviously wanted him around. Needed him, even. But he tried to shake that off.

_Not that I care,_ he added as a firm afterthought.

She had rejected his kiss, a fact that still caused a boiling feeling inside of him (his pride squirming, undoubtedly). He would not give her a chance to do the same thing twice. As much as he wanted her. As strong as the pull was. No matter the situation. He was not going to make another move on her. He was not going to give her the satisfaction of rejecting him again.

The sound of her voice almost made him jump.

"Where are we going?" she asked quietly.

He didn't stop walking, didn't turn to her. Didn't answer her. Didn't acknowledge her existence. He just continued on, and it was a few moments before—

"Malfoy," she said, louder than before.

He didn't answer her. The silent treatment really hadn't been the plan, but it seemed like the best option now.

"Are you ignoring me?" she asked, a hint of incredulity in her tone. "Malfoy. Would you answer me?" No answer. Kept walking.

Incredibly, she didn't press further. He had expected a reprimand, some sort of long, unhindered sermon pointing out his childishness and irrationality. But no. Just her quiet footsteps.

They walked a long time in silence. It was a very long tunnel, and Draco wondered on more than one occasion if this was some sort of trick by the man named Maven who was supposedly trying to help them. Maybe this was a never-ending tunnel and they would end up walking through it until the end of time.

Draco was entertaining this thought when he began to notice that there was light shining around them not coming from the glowing walls. There was a curve up ahead, lit brightly by this new light. Sunlight, as it turned out. When they turned the corner, they found that the mouth of the cave opened widely to an expanse of trees very much like the ones they had left behind.

He saw the cabin immediately. It was a tiny, weather-beaten sort of thing, covered almost completely in climbing vines and mosses. It sat in the middle of a clearing just outside the cave mouth (which, as Draco saw when he turned around and looked, was set into the side of a very tall, rocky hill).

"Why did you lead me here?" asked Granger behind him.

He fought the urge to turn and look at her. She could suffer his silence longer. Ignoring her question, he began walking towards the little cabin.

"Malfoy," said Granger, and he heard her footsteps following. "How did you know to come here?" Silence. "Do you even know where we are?"

He had reached the front door. Without hesitation, he grabbed the worn brass handle and twisted it. It was unlocked. He pressed the door open and stepped inside. It was very dark. The windows were grown over with vines, so only the open door and a few haphazard cracks in the roof offered light.

"What is this?" asked Granger from outside the door. "Did you know this was here?"

"Shut up and get in here," he replied without turning to look at her. He began moving forward into the gloomy space. He heard her hesitant footsteps on the wooden floor. "Shut the door behind you."

"What are we doing here?" she asked.

He turned around and looked at her. She was silhouetted against the light from the open doorway. He could see that her face was very pale; her whole form seemed to droop with fatigue. He felt that tug again, the one that seemed to pull him towards her even when he didn't want to go near her.

"Closing a door is a relatively simple task," he said humorlessly.

"I want to know why you've taken me here," she said.

He stared at her and she stared back. He began to walk towards her slowly, knowing full well that it was a bad idea. She did not retreat, but drew up her height and raised her chin. She looked so tired. When there was only a foot of space left between them, he stopped. He saw the alarms going off in her eyes, though she tried to appear calm. He thought he could hear her heart beating. Or maybe it was his own?

He reached his arm up past her to the door behind her and swung it shut. This movement brought him into even closer proximity with her. He stared down at her eyes. He began to feel a drowsiness caused by the closeness of her, like he just wanted to grab her, pull her into bed, and go to sleep (or perform a whole host of other activities).

"Why are we here?" she asked lowly, her lips barely moving.

"So you can get your head bandaged and sleep," he said. "I'm sure there's a bed."

The word "bed" fell heavily on both of them and Draco saw her blink. He felt great satisfaction at that.

"How did you know this was here?" she asked.

"That man told me," he said. Her eyes widened. "His name is Maven."

"The one who…?" she trailed off as he nodded. "When?"

"When I walked out of the cave this morning," he replied.

This too seemed to echo off the walls. Draco momentarily flashed back to the kiss and he was fairly sure Granger did too.

"Did he say anything about Harry?"

"Yes," said Draco. He watched as her eyes filled with something along the lines of hope. "He said that Potter is a stupid git. And he's dead."

Her eyes popped open wide and she gasped.

"How dare you!" she screeched, lunging forward to slap him.

He hopped backwards, a smirk painting itself on his face. Oh, how good it felt to torment her. He grabbed her by both flailing wrists and pulled her in close to him. It was meant as self-defense; he realized immediately that it was the most dangerous move he could have made. Because he was touching her. And she was right there in front of him. And she had that gleam of hatred in her eye that suddenly seemed so attractive. His smirk died when he recognized the trap he had fallen into. He felt the blood rise to his face like flames. A hundred thoughts suddenly raced through his mind, but the one on top read, _She must know. She must know exactly what I'm thinking. I'm fucking transparent. I can see it in her eyes. She knows I'm about two seconds away from kissing her._ He felt like the wind was knocked out of him.

And then he felt two small hands pushing against his chest. Pushing him away. He shook his head and refocused his eyes on her. He had to clear this throat before he spoke again.

"He only said that Potter wanted me to get you back to the Order," he said in a strange voice.

This was ridiculous. Just touching her had knocked all the sense out of him. A string of expletives sounded off inside his head.

He found that she was staring at him heavily and it was almost more than he could take. He was NOT going to kiss her again. If it took every ounce of his self-control and killed him, he would resist her.

"What?" he challenged.

She was silent. Staring.

He turned away from her and began moving forward into the cabin. The room they were currently in seemed to be the main room of the building. It had a sturdy looking wooden counter stretching along the far wall with a row of cabinets (most missing their handles) underneath. Next to this was a door, and next to the door was a small fireplace, a stack of logs beside it. A worn brown couch sat facing the fireplace. (Draco hoped it was _supposed_ to be brown). A wobbly round table sat in the center of the room with three mismatched chairs pushed in underneath it.

Draco walked over and opened the door. He stepped into the next room, which was very small. There was a bed in the corner, made up with white sheets and a plain-looking blue and white quilt. There was a wooden dresser with three drawers against the wall beside the bed. Another door led to a tiny bathroom.

Though the overall feel of the cabin was old and shabby, it was not dirty. It was a strange place. Draco found sets of clothing and extra sheets within the drawers of the dresser and realized that the bathroom was stocked with toiletries. It was as if this cabin just sat here empty all the time, waiting patiently to be inhabited.

When Draco went back into the main room, he saw that Granger had been searching through the cabinets. There was a stack of items on the table, apparently things she thought would be of use. She looked up from her crouched position in front of the cabinets when he came in.

"This is an old muggle house, but it's filled with brand new stuff," she said. She held up a strange little device. It was green, made of some sort of hard material. It was a kind of little vial, he thought. But there was a notched metal wheel inlaid at the top. "Would you start a fire?"

She handed him the little green vial and went back to the cabinets. It was lighter than he thought it would be. He stared at it hard, not knowing what the hell to do with it. He shook it and realized it had liquid inside.

"What is this?" he asked, his forehead knit.

She looked up at him, surprised. And then the corners of her mouth tilted up in a smile.

"You've never seen a lighter before?" she asked.

"Does it appear that I've seen one before?" he asked.

She stood up and walked over to him. He held out the "lighter" and she took it from his hand. He watched as she placed her thumb on the notched wheel and made a quick motion. There was a sort of clicking, grinding sound—and then a small flame danced at the end of the vial.

* * *

Hermione watched in amusement as Malfoy stared at the flame skeptically, one eyebrow raised. He had never seen a lighter before! And he probably didn't know how to make a fire either. 

She walked past him to the fireplace, which already had two medium-sized logs sitting inside, and placed a handful of kindling (sitting in a basket beside the stack of logs) on top. She re-lit the lighter and held the flame onto the dried twigs and leaves. Soon a small fire was crackling.

Malfoy looked unimpressed. "Is there any food here?" he asked.

Hermione was hungry too. There was actually a good supply of food in those cabinets, mostly canned items. There were packets of dried beef and bottles of water also. The arrangement was so odd, but she tried not to dwell on the strangeness of the place too much. There was food and a place to sleep not made of rock, so she could be content for the moment.

She was tired, though, more tired than she could ever remember being. Her head hurt less frequently, but it hurt nonetheless and she could feel a large bump where she had been struck. There was also a lot of dried blood in her hair, so she couldn't wait to shower. She felt filthy after the day's events.

Hermione heated a beef stew over the fire and the two of them ate together at the wobbly table.

After a few minutes of silence (one of those thick, awkward silences that comes from uncomfortable sexual tension) Hermione said, "I have a question."

"I'm sure you do," said Malfoy.

"Why can't we Apparate?" she asked.

"Because we'll be followed and most likely tortured to death," he replied.

"How will they follow us?" she asked. "And how do you know?"

"The Dark Lord has ways of detecting magic," he said. "There are certain areas that are…I guess you could say 'under the net'."

He went back to his stew. She stared at him.  
"What?"

"It's not a difficult concept. He throws down an enchantment and then he can send Death Eaters wherever he detects magic. It's patchy and it doesn't always work right…and it's pretty much pointless unless you're using it in an area where no other magic is being used. Like…here, I guess. But it's not worth us taking the chance of thinking we're in a safe area."

"Wait. How would that let them follow us if we Apparate?"

"Same concept. Apparating leaves a trail of magic. If we're under one of his areas, he just sends the Death Eaters along the trail."

"…How did you know this was one of the places?"

"How many damn questions are you going to ask me?"

"How did you know?"

"Maven said. When you went insane, remember? He said not to Apparate or they would follow us. He knew I would know what he meant."

"How would he know you would know?"

"Because he's a bigger know-it-all than even you."

Hermione scowled. She remembered hearing something about this net thing before, a long time ago. She hadn't known Voldemort used it. She had a sudden thought.

"Do you think that's how they followed Harry to his parents house?" she asked.

"Most likely," he said.

"So…what, that would mean Voldemort had the enchantment over Grimmauld Place? How would he know to put it there?"

Malfoy thought for a moment. "He probably put it in that general area after I disappeared. Maybe trying to find me."

"Well how would it not have detected all the magic we did inside the house?"

"I don't know. You probably know more about the enchantments on the house than I do."

"Oh," she said. It would make sense that Dumbledore would protect against that kind of enchantment.

"How are we going to get back?" she asked more quietly.

He stared at her for a moment. "I don't know."

* * *

A/N: So there we are! Chapter 15. What did you think? Still good? Everyone staying onboard? Suggestions? I know my updates have been really slow, but it's already April and summer is fast approaching. And you know what that means! Lots of free time for me to be writing. (Well…some free time. I'll probably have to get one those silly "job" things.) So just hang in there, guys. REVIEW, Loyal Band! I know you all want to know what Harry is up to and more about Maven, but you must be patient about that. I threw in a little section about Ron just to reassure you all that he was still alive, if depressed. But don't worry, his situation will improve. 


	16. Crashing Down

Disclaimer: This story belongs to J.K. Rowling. Or whatever.

* * *

At a very late hour, when the moon was high in the sky casting dark shadows over the earth, a tall boy with flame-red hair slept deeply in his bed. His sleep was so deep, in fact, that he did not awaken when a quiet tapping began to sound at his small window. The tapping grew a little louder, and the boy shifted on his pillow slightly. Then the tapping stopped, and there was silence for a moment. Then came two rapid knocks on the glass. The boy shot up into a sitting position. He looked around his room, his hand coming up to push the hair out of his eyes. He heard a small series of taps across the room, and his eyes shot to the window. He gave a violent start when he saw a pale face looking in at him. Then his eyes widened in recognition.

"Harry…" he whispered.

* * *

Hermione pushed her empty bowl away and sat back in her chair. She thought back over the day's events, wondering how she could have ended up in such a drastically different situation over such a short period of time. Just yesterday she was at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ron, taking care of a weak and wounded boy whom she loathed. Now she was in a strange cabin in a strange forest, running from Death Eaters, sitting across from a physically recovered Malfoy who had saved her life several times and kissed her. Twice. Passionately. 

Her mind reeled at the thought of it. She was utterly exhausted, and her head still hurt. She looked across at Malfoy, who was still eating. After their earlier conversation, he had become moody and quiet.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said.

"Thanks for the update," he replied sarcastically.

She narrowed her eyes. "You know, you don't have to be so rude. Just because—"

She stopped.

"Just because what, Granger?" he asked, his own eyes narrowing and locking onto hers.

_Just because I slapped you and hurt your pride doesn't give you the right to treat me like crap._

"Just because you're in a bad mood doesn't mean you should take it out on me."

"Who says I'm in a bad mood?"

"Why wouldn't you be?"

He pushed his bowl away and stared across at her harshly. "Yes, why wouldn't I be? Shall we go over the reasons why I _should be_ in a bad mood? Most of them revolving around your own stupidity…"

"Excuse me?"

"What, you _doubt_ that?"

"You could hardly say that this whole situation is my fault," she said indignantly.

"Oh, couldn't I? If we really wanted to get down to it… I could say that _you're_ the one who decided to run after Harry in the middle of the night—"

"You didn't have to follow me—"

"—and _you're_ the one who Apparated me to this piece-of-shit forest, and YOU decided to open your stupid mouth when the Death Eaters were watching for us."

"I didn't know they were there!"

"Use your fucking common sense."

Hermione slid back her chair and stood up. "You're horrible," she said.

She walked quickly into the bedroom and slammed the door. He _was_ horrible. How dare he try to make her feel guilty like that! Like it was all her fault that they were in this situation. Of course she had followed Harry! He was one of her best friends, like family. She couldn't have just let him go off on his own. And besides, it wasn't _her_ fault Malfoy had chased her outside. It's not like she _wanted_ to Apparate him. He had an iron grip on her hand!

_Use your fucking common sense._

His words still stung in her mind. Somehow, he had the ability to make her feel like an idiot child. 

She was so angry, tears sprang to her eyes. She wanted to walk back out there and slap Malfoy across the face. How dare he make her feel like this! Like everything was her fault. She wiped the tears out of her eyes quickly, but more followed. She tried to ignore the feeling of pressure building up in her chest as she searched for a towel and some extra clothes in the drawers of the dresser. She did not want to cry anymore. It was pointless. But she couldn't stop now.

Through the unwanted stream of tears, she found a towel and a suitable outfit to sleep in. Then she went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

Draco listened to the faint but steady flow of water from the showerhead in the bathroom. He remained in his seat at the table, silently stewing in anger. She acted like she'd done nothing wrong! But he had every right in the world to be furious with her. He would be halfway across the world right now if not for her. He could have escaped. Escaped his old life, escaped _her_. If she hadn't gone chasing after Potter. 

_If you hadn't gone chasing after HER, _contradicted a rebellious portion of his thoughts.

_Oh, what was I supposed to do? Let her run out in the middle of the night and be captured by Death Eaters?_

_Yes. That's what the old Draco would have done._

He had no response to that. The angry little voice was right. The old Draco would happily have let Hermione Granger die at the hands of the Death Eaters.

_And the old Draco wouldn't have kissed her_, piped the angry little voice.

_Oh, sod off, _thought Draco.

He shook his head to rid himself of these thoughts and stood up from the table. Granger was taking an awfully long time in the shower. Which created a problem, because he too wanted to take a shower sometime in the next century or so. He paced around the living room, his already limited store of patience stretching thinner by the second. Five more minutes passed. He strode up to the bedroom door and banged loudly on it with his fist.

"How long do you plan to take in there?" he called in as rude a tone as he could manage.

He heard the water shut off, but there was no response.

_Fine. Five more minutes. Then I'm breaking down the door._

He sat on the couch and waited. Five minutes passed. Still no sign of her. He stood up and banged on the bedroom door.

"Hurry up!" he called.

No response.

"I'm coming in!"

He opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. The dresser drawers were flung open and he could see light under the crack of the bathroom door. He walked over and knocked loudly on the door.

"Would you hurry up?" he called.

He heard movement inside, but no response.

"Granger!" he yelled angrily.

Still nothing.

"MUDBLOOD!" he bellowed into the door.

The door flew open inwardly and there stood an extremely pissed-off looking Hermione Granger. She was wearing some sort of large, gray muggle shirt that came down to her knees. Her hair was wet and there was something floppy and white stuck to the side of her head.

"Go away and leave me alone!" she yelled at him.

She went to slam the door, but he caught it and pressed it open, taking a step inside. She stepped back against the sink and glared daggers up at him. He looked down at her and fought off the sudden urge to laugh. He realized that the white, floppy thing was a bandage stuck halfway on and halfway off the side of her head.

"Having difficulties?" he asked, the hint of a smirk breaking through on his mouth.

"I hate you," she hissed, shoving past him and stomping barefoot through the bedroom and out into the living room.

He watched her go, and saw her yank the uncooperative bandage from her hair. Though she was a mess, he felt a sudden wave of…attraction for her. There was something in the way she moved when she was angry, and how she seemed so small in that huge shirt.

He followed her out into the main room. She was standing next to the table, fiddling with the bandage. She obviously had no idea what she was doing.

"If you need help," he began tauntingly, "all you have to do is ask."

If fury could be transformed into flame, the look she gave him would have set his smirk on fire.

"I don't need your help, and I don't want your help, you stupid…stupid—"

"Stupid what?" he asked.

"Leave me alone!" she yelled, stomping forward.

She went to walk past him, back into the bedroom, and he could see that she was about to rip the bandage in two. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

"You're going to hurt yourself even more," he said.

"Don't touch me!" she exclaimed, trying to yank her wrist back.

He snatched the bandage out of her other hand and released her wrist. He looked at it. It was a thick piece of gauze with a strip of medical tape at two ends.

"Give it back!" she cried, trying to snatch it back from him. "I had to make it myself!"

"I can see that," he said.

She grabbed hold of his shirt collar and tried to reach the bandage, which he held just out of her reach. She really was going to hurt herself even more. He let her go on with that struggle for about five seconds.

"Okay," he said. "Time to calm down."

He tossed the makeshift bandage to the side (eliciting an incredulous gasp from Hermione) and grabbed her hand off of his collar. Her other hand, which came very close to smacking him on the face, was gathered up as well, and he maneuvered both of her (thankfully) small wrists into one hand. His other arm wrapped around her waist (eliciting yet another incredulous gasp), lifted her up bodily, and sat her on top of the table.

"Sit," he said. He let go of her wrists and took a step back. "Stay."

Her expression of disbelief was one of the most rewarding prizes of his life.

He turned and walked away from her, through the bedroom and into the bathroom, where he found the first-aid kit sitting open on the floor. He reached down, picked it up, and began walking back out to the kitchen. He found her standing in the bedroom doorway, her eyes blazing.

"I can't _believe_ you just—"

"Granger," he interrupted. "Really. Let's not be counter-productive here. I put you up there for a reason."

He tucked the kit under his arm and walked towards her. Her eyes widened and she stepped back, but he closed in on her quickly and maneuvered her back towards the table by her upper arms. He placed the kit on the table, then slid his hands down to her hips and lifted her onto it. Startled, she grabbed onto his arms automatically.

"Stop—handling me!" she yelled, smacking him on the chest.

He removed his hands from her hips. "Stop being an idiot."

"I am _not_—"

"You are. You're being an idiot. I'm trying to help you and you won't let me."

He opened the kit and began rifling through it.

"You're not trying to help me, you're trying to make me mad!"

"You call this _trying_?" he asked, pulling out a roll of gauze. "Now hold still. And move your goddamn hair out of the way."

She stared at him with one of the most fiery glares he had ever seen. He half expected her to just haul back her arm and punch him in the nose.

"Fine," he said. He reached up and pushed the hair away from the right side of her face. He glanced at her expression. She was still glaring at him whole-heartedly, but there seemed to be no protest. He unrolled a short length of gauze and tore it off, setting the roll to the side. Then he folded the piece in half.

"You cleaned it out, right?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm not stupid," she replied. She was still glaring.

He reached up again to move her hair out of the way, but this time he raked it upwards with his fingers, exposing the gash. He held the one hand there against her head and used the other to place the pad of gauze against the wound. He saw her flinch.

"Hold it there," he said.

She complied, reaching up her right hand to press the gauze down against her scalp. Still holding her hair up on the right side, he reached into the kit on the table to her left. He heard her take a short breath at this. He realized he had just brought them into a very close, very intimate position. He froze involuntarily for a moment and then continued what he was doing, looking through the kit. He could feel her eyes on him as he did so. And he could smell her shampoo. It smelled…well, quite nice to be quite honest. They were in very close proximity to one another. He fished out a roll of tape.

"Is this what you tried to use?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. He noticed that her glare had softened somewhat, though it was still there. Glaring.

"Well it's not going to work," he said, tossing it back in the kit. "Your hair is too wet."

"Do you have any better ideas?" she scoffed.

"Yes…" he said, in a tone that communicated, _I'm about to make you feel stupid._ He grabbed the roll of gauze off the table. "That piece should stick to the wound by itself, and I'm going to wrap a piece of this stuff around your head to keep it there."

"It's called gauze," she said.

"I know what it's called," he countered. Using his right hand (he was becoming more and more aware of the position of his _left_ hand, which was still cradling the side of her head to keep her hair up) he brought the roll of gauze up to her head to begin wrapping it. But she leaned away from him and pushed his hand away.

"You're trying to make me look stupid," she said.

"No," he said. Hepaused and looked at her. "But it wouldn't be that difficult."

* * *

_The nerve!_ she thought. 

Hermione, who moments before was having a very hard time digesting the sensations of Malfoy's hand holding her head and his body leaning in so close to hers, felt renewed fury at his words. She knocked his arm away from her head and shoved him backwards.

"I'll do it myself," she spat, sliding down from the table.

She snatched the roll of gauze from his hand and walked quickly to the bedroom door. A little too quickly. A wave of dizziness rolled over her very suddenly. She grabbed onto the doorframe, accidentally dropping the roll of gauze. As the floor began to roll in her vision, she gasped and closed her eyes. For a moment, she thought she might faint.

Then she felt an arm go around her waist. And another arm. And a solid body pressed against her. She opened her eyes and saw Malfoy's face peering down at her, all covered in black spots.

She heard faintly, as if from very far away, "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Then she closed her eyes again and let her face sink into his chest. He felt very, very good at the moment. Warm. And he smelled good. Their argument slipped from her mind. At one point, she couldn't tell if she was supporting herself on her feet, or if he was holding her up entirely. A long moment later, Hermione lifted her head back up and opened her eyes. The black spots were gone, along with most of the dizziness. There was just Malfoy. Staring at her strangely. He looked kind of…tense, actually. She could see a muscle working in his jaw.

She opened her mouth to say something (she couldn't remember what, afterwards) when he suddenly moved in and pressed her lips closed with his. The portion of her brain responsible for rational thought seemed to go numb for a moment, and her eyes closed automatically. She felt one of his hands as it slid up her back and neck to press against the back of her head, applying even more pressure to the kiss. A strange thrill went up her spine as he parted his lips and began moving them slowly against hers, back and forth, with more and more intensity, until she couldn't breathe anymore. She pulled her head away to gasp in a breath of air, and he let her, but his lips moved immediately down to her neck.

This was an entirely new sensation for her, and she felt every kiss, every burning trail that his mouth made as it traveled lower, down to her collarbone. She felt his hand slide slowly from the back of her head, down the nape her neck, and across her shoulder, where he bunched the fabric of her shirt and pulled it down her arm, exposing more collarbone for his lips to explore.

She could feel her pulse beating rapidly in every vein, and though she had regained her breath, she was light-headed, and her eyelids were heavy. A small part of her was saying, _this is wrong_. She couldn't ignore it.

"Stop," she said, and it was barely a whisper.

But he heard her. He brought his head up and their eyes met for a moment. He must have seen something favorable in hers, because a moment later, she felt his lips on the opposite side of her neck, working their strange magic again. Her eyes closed of their own accord for a moment, and her hand went up to the back of his head. Still, she heard, _this is wrong_.

"Malfoy," she said, and it was even more faint. "Stop."

She heard him inhale roughly as he pulled his head away from her neck.

"You don't want me to stop."

His eyes settled directly on hers, and the look they held made something inside of her quiver. There was no challenge, no smirk, none of his usual arrogance. Just a silent intensity, boring into her. She couldn't form a response.

Then his face was coming closer, very quickly, and she felt the warmth of his lips connect with hers. There was no resistance left in her. As he kissed her more and more deeply, opening her lips with his and sliding his tongue in to meet hers, she felt the tension go out of her body and mind, and certain images began surfacing behind her closed eyes. She remembered the first time she helped him down the hallway at Grimmauld Place, the mixture of pain and stiff pride in his face; when he walked out of the bathroom in his normal clothes for the first time, looking like the real, powerful Draco Malfoy she remembered; the slightly confused expression he wore inside the tree, right after they had kissed, when he was fastening his robes around her shoulders for warmth; the sight of him stepping around the bend in the cave, just as she had given up all hope of him returning to her. He was so deeply entrenched in her thoughts, in her mind, and she hadn't given it due thought until this moment. Her world had revolved around him constantly for the past week, like a satellite in orbit, and now the gravity was just too strong. She was crashing down.

She couldn't explain any of it, and she didn't want to at the moment. And while that one voice could still be heard saying, _this is wrong_, there was something else inside of her screaming that it was more right than anything she had ever felt before.

* * *

Draco felt her give in to him as he started kissing her again. She was so soft all over, radiating such warmth, that it was hard for him to keep a clear head. But what good would a clear head do him now? He had already lost all control over the situation by kissing her in the first place. 

_As much as he wanted her. As strong as the pull was. No matter the situation. He was not going to make another move on her._

Oh, he remembered _well_. His anger at her, his bitter resolution to stay away from her. Not that it mattered anymore. He didn't care. She was _there_, and she obviously wanted to be, and he was kissing her, and…the rest could go to hell.

His arms were wrapped full-circle around her back, holding her in as close as was physically possible (without resulting in any injuries to either party). He felt her hands clinging tightly to the back of his neck, and her chest rising and falling with each quick breath she took. Down lower, he felt her legs shaking, and he realized they probably weren't going to hold out too much longer.

Sliding one hand down her side to grasp her hip, he tugged her backwards towards him and maneuvered her over to the couch, never parting their mouths in the process. When the back of her legs met the bottom of the couch, she sat backwards in surprise, and he guided her onto the seat. He pulled himself away for a moment to look down at her. Her lips were red and her eyes were dark and wide. He immediately closed the space between them, catching her lips with his and lowering himself onto one knee beside her leg on the couch. He kissed her like this for a moment, her head tilted onto the back of the couch, before taking hold of her shoulders and lowering her down sideways, onto her back. He heard (or rather, felt) a little sound die in the back of her throat as her head met the cushion. He slid his hand once again down to her hip, which was quickly becoming one of his favorite parts of her body. The hem of that large, shapeless shirt was edging further and further up her leg, and his brain crackled at the prospect.

Or maybe it was the room that crackled.

"My apologies," sounded a deep voice from across the room.

* * *

A/N:

Okay, I had a long author's note written out, but screw it, I'll make this short. I know this was a really slow update, and I apologize. I'm trying to make time for writing. (I GOT one of those silly job things.) Not much happened in this chapter as far as plot, but I didn't want to make you wait another week or two while I wrote the next little scene. (Yes, it takes me that long.)

Please note: your reviews leave me in a state of overwhelming glee. For this I thank you. With that in mind, REVIEW. Let me in on your thoughts concerning my story, I am always so interested to read them.


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